Polaris
by flancake22
Summary: Julian Hale returns to Beacon Hills with the intention of finishing school, dancing on Kate Argent's grave, and staying out of whatever supernatural disaster the town has attracted this time. Things don't go as planned though, and soon Julian finds himself at odds with both the Argents, a kanima, and his own brother. Set Season 2. Eventual Scott/OC.
1. Chapter 1

In hindsight, perhaps expecting hunters to have common decency had been giving them too much credit. If Laura had still been alive she'd have been berating him to no end. But she wasn't. Otherwise he'd have been in Kansas worrying about next week's math test rather than standing at her grave behind the skeleton of his old house.

Derek had followed the family tradition; there was no headstone to mark the place. Just freshly turned dirt and a small wolfsbane plant poking out of the dirt, it's purple flowers the only spot of colour in the dead area.

In the dark light of the forest the once lively house looked like something from a horror movie. The Hale home had once been full of life; squealing children, birds singing, and bees buzzing in Laura's meticulously maintained garden. Now it was if everything in the forest knew that this was a place of death. The only plant that grew around here was the wolfsbane that snaked around the back of the house where the family had been buried.

Julian hadn't wanted to come here. He'd already grieved, but Deaton had suggested at least going to see the grave.

Something about closure.

 _Closure,_ Julian had thought, _is somewhat harder when it turns out your uncle was the killer._

He'd gone anyways though (Not that he was entirely sure why), even knowing that there were hunters in the area. It wasn't a full moon and he had assumed that the Argents would let him pay his respects in peace.

His assumption had been wrong.

And now he had a sword through his stomach.

"You know, your uncle tried to build a pack. Rebuild what he lost and get revenge on those he felt took it from him," the old man said. His tone was horrifically casual for someone who was currently stabbing a teenager. "It didn't work out very well for him as I'm sure you've heard."

Breath coming in uneven gasps and involuntary tears rolling down his cheeks, Julian met the man's gaze with a furious glare. "My uncle was a lunatic and a murderer," he gasped out. The words were filled with the coppery taste of the blood in his mouth. "You should know something about what that's like, right?"

Bringing up Kate Argent had been a mistake.

Rather than exploding, the woman's father simply smiled and twisted the blade ever so slightly, the small movement sent new waves of tearing, ripping pain through Julian that turned his knees to jelly. The teen's teeth clamped down hard on his tongue in an effort to keep himself from crying out; he wasn't going to give the bastard the satisfaction of hearing him scream. Instead, he gave the man a bloodied smile. "Hit a nerve there?"

One of the other hunters, a tall, thin man with greying hair and icy eyes, looked briefly uncomfortable. "What Kate did-" he began.

"No, please. Tell me why burning us while we slept was justified," Julian spat out. Gesturing at the sword through his stomach, he continued, "I'm not exactly going anywhere."

The hunter didn't have respond. Something flickered across his eyes and he shifted his grip on the shotgun in his hands, but he remained silent.

As soon as Gerard Argent had approached, Julian had weighed his options and decided that not fighting back was, unfortunately, the best option. Running would only lead to getting shot and fighting back would lead to the same result. Besides, trained or not, taking on more than one opponent was idiotic as anything other than a last resort.

They weren't going to kill him. At least not tonight. Their behaviour was that of those who wanted to intimidate, not kill. While being stabbed was excruciatingly painful, the blade was clean of wolfsbane, and Gerard had made sure that he wouldn't bleed out before he could heal.

"So you just happen to arrive in Beacon Hills as Derek Hale begins to build a pack?" Gerard asked. "Right after you have a new Alpha? That's quite a coincidence, wouldn't you say?"

"I didn't know," Julian insisted, doing his best to keep his voice even. "Laura changed my legal guardian in her will to our old pack emissary, he still lives here. I just came here to see her grave." His gaze flicked momentarily over to the white lilies he'd dropped on the freshly turned dirt.

"Nothing to do with recent events?"

"If you're talking about my uncle ripping my sister in half? Then yes," he growled out.

Gerard studied him intently for a moment, his cold, soulless eyes boring into the teen's before smiling.

"Gerard." The voice was that of the hunter who had spoken up before. There was a disapproving look in his gaze as he spoke to the group's leader. "This isn't necessary. The code-"

"The code means nothing anymore," Gerard sneered. "Not after what they did to Kate." This time the twist of the sword was involuntary but it sent twisting, white hot pain through Julian all the same. If it hadn't been for the blade holding him up, he'd have collapsed.

"He's sixteen and he hasn't killed anyone. You saw his eyes. We don't kill innocents," the younger man insisted before deciding to appeal to the more practical side of the white-haired man. There certainly wasn't a human side to worry about. "If you kill him then we'll start a war. And now is not the time." There was more to it than that, but whatever it was, the younger man didn't want to say anything in front of Julian.

Gerard paused, his dark unsympathetic eyes not wavering from the watering grey-green ones. Time seemed to stretch on for an eternity before he withdrew the blade. Julian collapsed to the ground like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Falling forwards onto his knees, his hands went to his stomach as he reflexively curled in on himself. Body shuddering uncontrollably, he forced himself to try and even out his breathing as new waves of pain rolled through his body.

"A quick reminder, Mr. Hale." Gerard crouched down, grabbing the teen by chin and forcing him to meet his cold black stare. "Make sure your brother is well aware of the consequences of his actions, for both him and others. Otherwise our next talk may not be so pleasant."

Eyes flickering between gold and grey, Julian spat out, "Bite me." A few specks of red appeared on the old man's face as it contorted into a small sneer.

Casually standing up, Gerard used his boot to push Julian onto his back before setting the boot against the stab wound and pressing down. Letting out a strangled cry of agonized pain, Julian's eyes flared gold before they dulled rapidly and the world rapidly began to darken at the edges.

Abruptly, the boot was gone. Julian gasped for air like a fish out of water, hacking as the blood ran down the back of his throat. The world was blurred from the pain and the tears in his eyes, gradually coming back into focus as he blinked and took in gulps of air.

Turning his head as he got control over his breathing, he caught sight of the hunters walking back off into the darkness of the forest. They walked with the arrogance and contempt he'd come to expect from their kind; leaving him lying next to the lilies he'd brought, the crumpled flowers crushed under the feet of one of the hunters.

None of them looked back.

Waiting until their footsteps had faded, Julian stayed curled on the cold, unforgiving ground rocking slightly back and forth trying to wait for the worst of the pain to pass. He could feel his insides trying to knit themselves back together from the middle out to the exit wounds.

It struck him that he was bleeding out all over his family's graves. Almost laughing, he wondered if that counted as irony. It didn't technically, he supposed, but it was still funny in some twisted fashion.

He wasn't sure how long he'd lain there in the darkening forest before he shakily pulled his phone out of the pocket of his now-ruined coat. Dialing Deaton's number with unsteady fingers, Julian tried to ignore the sticky blood on the buttons as he held his red-stained hand to his ear.

After the click of the phone being picked up sounded, Julian felt a sense of quiet relief. "Deaton, it's Julian," he said, glancing briefly down at the wound in his stomach. "I may need a ride. And some stitches."

* * *

"You need to be careful," Deaton said seriously. "This isn't like the city where you can hide in the crowds. The Argents are on a warpath and they don't care who gets in their way. Or, for that matter, who doesn't. You've been living with me for all of a week and you've already nearly gotten yourself killed."

"I was careful," Julian said defensively, wincing as the vet pulled the sutures tight. He was trying not to look at the needle passing through his skin while simultaneously not looking at the mauled body on the examination table. "Okay, maybe not as careful as I could have been, but I didn't think that it would be this bad."

"The sword nicked your intestines," Deaton said. "Your body needs to heal inside first, and that will take some time. You were lucky, Julian. If this was any worse…"

"I know," Julian said softly, his tone turning serious. "Thanks."

Deaton gave him a sad smile as he pulled the needle through the flesh again. "Have you told Derek about what happened yet?"

"No. Asshole didn't answer any of my calls or the court's before. Why would he now?" Julian snapped with more venom than he'd intended.

"Maybe he didn't get the message," Deaton reasoned in an attempt to be supportive.

"Of course. I'm sure he just didn't want to accept the long distance charge," Julian said, watching as the emissary tied the sutures shut. The worst of the pain had faded to a dull ache, likely due to the medication Deaton had given him rather than his lackluster healing ability.

Sighing, Deaton peeled off his gloves. "The bag you left in the car is still in there. There should be some clean clothes in it. Make it quick. The Argents are going to be here soon. They gave me a time frame and they'll plan on sticking to it."

Wincing as he eased himself up off of the counter, the teen slowly made his way out of the clinic to the car outside. The sun had set several hours earlier and the main source of light was coming from the small lamp above the clinic door, casting shadows around the empty parking lot.

Things hadn't changed much at the clinic since he'd last been here nearly seven years ago. Most of his memories of the town were blurry. Foggy recollections of the elementary school, library, clinic and his home.

All that was left of the latter was the broken, blackened structures of a building that should have been condemned years ago. Bones with nothing to hold up. Julian hadn't been able to bring himself to actually enter the building. He could blame it on the structural instability of the house but the truth was he'd made it up the steps to the door before he'd frozen at the door.

Homecomings weren't supposed to feel like that. Like your heart was being ripped apart.

They weren't supposed to hurt more than being impaled.

Shaking his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts, Julian focused instead on painfully removing his jacket, setting the blood-soaked fabric in the back of the car before beginning to dig through his go-bag.

Laura had always insisted on being prepared; there had been several different, fully-stocked backpacks scattered around in case hunters had found them. His sister had been one of the bravest people he'd ever met, but she was still human and she had never stopped looking over her shoulder. Nor, for that matter, had he. The burns had healed but the scars never had. It hadn't been unusual for her to wake up in the middle of the night to check on him, trying to reassure herself that she'd just imagined the smell of smoke or that his muffled crying was just another nightmare.

The preparedness paid off, just as it had four years ago, and Julian found a maroon t-shirt and black pullover stuffed underneath several granola bars that Laura had bought six months earlier.

Smiling sadly at the memory of his older sister trying to choke down the craisin filled bars she had bought in an effort to be healthier, he grabbed one of the bars and shut the door of the car.

He stared at his reflection in the window in shock for a moment, the smile replaced by wide eyes before he remembered that, in all fairness, he had been stabbed. The pallor of his skin made his black hair look even darker than usual, and his lips were cracked with dried blood that was smeared across his cheek and chin. His eyes were still tinged pink around the edges and several strands of his hair were matted and clumped together with a combination of sweat, dirt and blood. It looked like he'd gotten dressed up as a zombie for Halloween.

The sound of someone approaching brought his attention off of his reflection and he stiffened, his grip on the fabric tightening as his eyes rapidly scanned the area.

They were alone from what he could hear, something hunters were usually smart enough to avoid, but Julian kept himself behind the car all the same. Even if it was only one person, they could be armed and he was already injured.

Peeking over the hood of the car, Julian watched the figure step into the yellow light of the clinic. About Julian's age, he was tall with short, slightly wavy dark hair and a deep, even tan. One of his hands was clasped over his side, blood leaking through his fingers, the coppery scent cutting through the clear night air.

"Hey, are you alright?" Julian called over, stepping out from behind the car.

The other teen turned his head towards him to reveal a pained expression.

"Deaton's in here," Julian told him. He was ninety percent sure that this was the kid that Peter had turned. The age fit and Satomi's pack was on the over side of town, if they were even still around.

The guy stared at him for a moment, as though debating whether Julian was friend or foe. His gaze went to the mess of blood on Julian's shirt and he took a step back, body poising for an attack. Julian couldn't really blame him. He looked awful and Deaton had mentioned that people did occasionally break into the clinic with the intent of stealing drugs.

Eyes flaring gold, Julian gave him an expectant look. "Come on."

Surprise and relief flashed across the other teen's face and he hurried towards the clinic entry, Julian falling in step behind him.

"Did you find something that fits?" Deaton looked up to see the new teen clutching his side. "Did the Argents do this?" he demanded.

"Derek," the boy hissed out through clenched teeth. "I went to stop him from turning Boyd but I was too late."

At the mention of his brother's name, Julian scowled. Something that didn't go unnoticed by the newest patient.

"You know Derek?" The teen's tone wasn't suspicious, rather honestly curious.

After rummaging through the cupboard for a moment, Deaton seized a bottle. "Scott, this is Julian Hale. He'll be staying with me for the foreseeable future. Julian, this is Scott. He works part time at the clinic so you'll be seeing him around."

"What's that?" Scott asked, momentarily distracted as Deaton unscrewed the cap and soaked a cotton ball in it.

"Rubbing alcohol," Deaton answered. "You don't want it to get infected do you? Julian, grab some gauze out of the drawer on the right please."

Handing the vet the gauze, Julian watched as Deaton began to hurriedly tape the gauze over the wound. "You'll heal the same, just not as quickly because of Derek."

"Wounds from an Alpha tend to be like that," Julian explained as he studied the gash. "It'll hurt but it doesn't seem like he hit anything too important."

"How do you know all this? Actually, how do you know anything?" Scott demanded, his brown eyes darting between Deaton and Julian.

"Born wolf," Julian answered. "I grew up with this."

"In my case that is a longer story," Deaton said evasively. "What I can tell you is that I know about your kind. People like you and Julian I can help but this…" He gestured to the body on the table behind him. "This is something different."

"Wait, it wasn't one of us?" Julian asked. With the mention of the Argents and their behaviour, he'd assumed that it was a werewolf gone rogue. Deaton had been weirdly cryptic about the whole thing last night, but Julian had figured that was because the vet hadn't wanted to stress him out when he was about to start school. "What the hell did that then?"

Gaze lingering on the terrible gashes in the corpse, Scott grimaced. "It's reptilian and it's fast. I was hoping that you'd know something."

Deaton was already shaking his head. "No, but the Argents will. And this is the crucial part: they'll have some kind of record or book. It'll have descriptions, histories, notations. All the things they've discovered."

"All the things? How many different things are there?"

Scott didn't get his answer. The bell at the front had rung. The Argents had arrived.

"Get in the side room," Deaton ordered in a lowered voice. "Don't make a sound."

"But-" Scott started. Seizing him by the arm, Julian dragged him into the room and closed the door as quietly as he could, before ducking down out of view of the window. Pressing his ear to the door, Julian looked at Scott who had taken up a position across from him, standing next to the door so that he could peer through the window.

"I'm starting to think I need to buy a more prominent closed sign," Deaton said, his tone conversational.

"Hello, Alan." Julian felt his breath hitch. The voice was that of the man who had run him through with a sword not an hour earlier. "It's been a while. Last I heard, you had retired," the man continued.

"Last I heard you followed a code of conduct," Deaton retorted evenly.

A new speaker joined in. "If you haven't noticed, this body is one of ours." The man who had stood up to Gerard.

"I did. I also noticed the gunpowder residue on his fingertips. And that my charge came home with a stab wound." Scott's gaze flicked briefly over to Julian who was still wearing his blood-soaked shirt. "So don't assume I'll be swayed by your philosophy just because I'll answer a few questions." There was an edge to Deaton's tone now.

"He was only twenty-four."

Anger twisted in Julian's stomach and he dug his nails into his palms. The Argents didn't get to play that card after Kate; Cora had been eleven. Luke had been _three._ There was no justification for that. He had lost everyone because of the Argents, yet they had the gall to act as though they were the defenders. The ones who protected the innocent. Heroes fighting monsters. Julian wondered if they knew that the horror stories werewolves told were of _their_ kind.

"Killers come in all ages," Deaton pointed out darkly.

"All ages, sizes and shapes," Gerard said. "It's the last one that concerns us."

"How about you tell us what you found." The other hunter's tone made it clear that this was not a request.

There was a pause before Deaton spoke again. "See this cut? Precise, almost surgical. But this isn't the wound that killed him. This had a more… interesting purpose."

"Relating to the spine?" Gerard guessed.

"That's right. Whatever made this cut sliced with a paralytic toxin potent enough to disable all motor functions. These are the cause of death. Notice the patterns on each side?" Julian frowned thoughtfully. He couldn't remember any shape shifters with the capability to create a toxin, let alone a paralytic one. He could foggily recall a mention of certain shifters having saliva that could be toxic to humans but Julian was fairly sure that Peter had been teasing Derek about his new girlfriend.

"Five for each finger," the unnamed hunter realized.

"Each claw, Gerard corrected.

Seeming to ignore the exchange, Deaton continued. "As you can see, it dug in and slashed upward eviscerating the lungs and slicing through the bones of the ribcage with ease."

"Have you seen anything like this before?" the unnamed hunter asked quietly.

"No."

"Any idea at all of what killed him?"

"No, but I can tell you its fast, remarkably strong and has the capacity to render its victims essentially helpless in seconds."

"If you're saying we should be cautious, we get it."

Deaton nearly laughed judging by his tone before he went on in careful, precise detail. "I'm saying you should be afraid. Be very afraid. Because in the natural world the predators with paralytic toxins use them to catch and eat their prey. This prey wasn't eaten. That means whatever killed him only wanted to kill him. In fact, killing may be its only purpose."

"We appreciate the warning," Gerard said with an almost amused tone. "It was nice seeing you, Alan."

Opening up his eyes, Julian stayed curled up next to the door until the sound of boots faded and the voices now emanated from the entry to the clinic.

As he started to get up a sharp stab of pain lanced through his side. Gritting his teeth together he took a pained breath and forced himself upright, a vice-like grip on the nearby counter. It was best to stay hidden a little while longer. Until Deaton returned with an all-clear, one of the hunters could still come back.

Scott hadn't moved from his position next to the window, a thoughtful expression on his face as he stared into the room. He appeared to be lost in thought rather than waiting for the hunters to leave though.

"You're the kid that Peter bit, aren't you?" Julian studied him curiously. He'd known that Peter had turned a teenager but he'd been picturing a hulking mass of testosterone or a burgeoning murderer.

"Yeah," Scott said quietly, turning to face Julian, his warm brown eyes studying the other teen's face. Julian had no doubt that Scott was comparing him to Derek. The Hale family resemblance was there; the jet black hair, sharp cheekbones and thick eyebrows. Even though Julian had gotten grandmother's almond-shaped, green-grey eyes and wiry figure, and living in Kansas for the past six years had left him with a light accent, it was still quite obvious that he was related to Derek.

"Sorry, man. That must have sucked," Julian sympathised as he leaned back against the wall, waiting for the stabbing pain to pass.

"You aren't going to tell me 'the bite is a gift'?" Scott asked, adopting a gruff tone and furrowing his brow. That was pretty much all that was necessary for a decent Derek impression.

Julian scoffed. "Out of all the people to pull the 'the bite is a gift' crap it's Derek?" Letting his head loll back against the wall, he laughed humourlessly. "That's rich."

Confused, Scott opened his mouth to ask a question but Julian was already shaking his head. "Don't worry about it," he told Scott, still grinning dryly as he opened the door to reveal a frustrated-looking Deaton.

"I get the impression that Gerard knows more than he's letting on," the vet stated. "It's imperative that you find that record," he told Scott. "Gerard is always several steps ahead; it doesn't help to start falling behind."

"You two know each other?" Julian asked as he carefully removing the blood-stained t-shirt he'd been wearing and dumped it in the trash. Even if he had been able to get the blood out there was still a large hole in it, and deep down Julian didn't care enough to save the shirt that he'd been viciously stabbed in.

"That too is a long story."

"Do you have a short version?" Scott quipped with a lopsided grin.

"The abridged edition?" Julian remarked with a strained smile as he began to pull the maroon coloured shirt over his head, the movement pulling at the stitches in his abdomen.

Noting the faint hiss of pain, "Are you alright?" Scott asked. The genuine concern from someone Julian had known for all of ten minutes was unexpected. Of all the people Peter could have picked to help him murder people (who, for the most part, deserved it) he had picked Scott. So far, Julian had no idea why. The guy seemed almost painfully _good._

"I'll heal," he responded as he pulled his shirt down. "Probably quicker than you will. And I'm definitely better off than that guy," he added, nodding at the body still lying on the examination table and turning to Deaton. "You said that whatever did this just wants to kill, could it not have been self-defence?" He looked pointedly down at where he'd been stabbed. "The hunters around here aren't exactly welcoming."

"This isn't the first victim," Deaton responded. "Whatever did this also killed Mr. Lahey, the father of one of your brother's betas. And whatever it is will continue killing unless it is stopped. The book should help," he added, directing the last bit at Scott who nodded distractedly as he stared at the time on his phone.

"I've got to go," the teen said, jamming his phone into his pocket. "I'll get the book. Thanks for the help Deaton, nice to meet you Julian," he added as he raced out the door.

"I'll see you tomorrow for work!" Deaton called after him.

Watching him go, Julian turned to Deaton with a raised eyebrow. "Laura told me that you were staying out of this stuff. This doesn't really seem like 'staying out of it.'"

"I prefer to think of this as 'providing a guiding hand.'" Deaton smiled slightly. "And Scott and his friends are more capable than you'd think."

"They'd have to be if you're trusting them to take care of a 'born killer' as you put it."

"They don't have to do it alone."

Julian rolled his eyes. "Your subtlety is truly a gift to behold. You should stick to 'annoyingly cryptic.'"

"Making friends is important and I think you'd get along with them. Besides, you could use some people who know about what really happened," Deaton said seriously. "And they could use your help."

"I'll think about it," Julian lied. He had made the decision before he'd come here to stay out of this crap. He was leaving the town as soon as he could, and just like before, he had no plans on looking back.


	2. Chapter 2

The smell of cinnamon pancakes spread through the small house as soon as Julian set the batter on the pan. The scent was comforting, and going through the recipe was the same; the familiar motions easing his nerves.

Settling in to new places had always been hard; it wasn't uncommon for him to wake up early in the morning feeling restless no matter how little he'd slept. Deaton's house had been no different; he'd woken up before the sun had risen and hadn't been able to fall back asleep. He'd gone for a run in an effort to escape the confines of the house but that had done little other than bring awareness to how tired he was.

"You didn't have to make breakfast," Deaton said, standing in the entrance to the kitchen still dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt while his dog Oliver, a beige corgi with one eye, danced around his legs.

"Got up early," Julian said more shortly than he'd intended as he flipped the pancake over and lowered the heat. "Figured I'd make something warm and better tasting than oatmeal."

Not pressing him on the issue, Deaton took a seat at the kitchen island. "Your mother used to love to cook, so did Laura," he said casually.

"This is her recipe," Julian told him. "She used to make it over the weekends. Said it was the easiest way to get everyone downstairs on time." Smiling sadly to himself, he was grateful that Deaton remained silent as he stood by the stove.

It was Julian who broke the silence several minutes later as he dumped a third pancake onto the plate. "This enough?"

"Plenty," Deaton said, grabbing the plate and the maple syrup (which was old enough that it had gathered dust). "These are good, you inherited your mother's talent," he said a few moments later.

Dropping another spoonful of batter onto the pan, Julian barked out a laugh. "I certainly didn't get it from my grandfather. He was worse than Derek and Ryan combined. No one knows how he managed to burn _water._ He couldn't even do a grilled cheese. The last time he tried he managed to burn it so badly that even Peter wouldn't…" he trailed off abruptly.

It was still so foreign to accept that Peter had done what he had. The police officer had danced around the subject for several minutes before his partner finally blurted out that Laura had been ripped in half and that Derek was a prime suspect. At the time, Julian had immediately dismissed the idea that a family member would do such a thing. The irony made him feel sick.

A call to Deaton later and Julian had found out about the Alpha. But he'd always assumed it was some maniac going on a killing spree. Some sick twisted murderer who had killed the only family Julian really had left for power.

And that was true. But that sick twisted murderer Julian hated with all of his heart was also Uncle Peter.

Peter. The same Peter that spent eight hours trying to set up a tire swing in the yard and had fallen out of the tree twice during the process. Peter, who lowered the basketball hoop over a period of three weeks so that Cora finally stood a chance against Derek. The man who used to proudly play the worst country music in the world in the car as he sung loudly along. Sure, he'd had a mean streak and was fond of putting the blame on the younger children, but murdering Laura…

Startled back to the present by the hand on his shoulder, Julian found Deaton carefully removing a blackened pancake from the pan. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Fine." Forcing a smile, Julian plopped more batter onto the pan and stepped back jerkily, his fingers drumming rapidly against his outer thigh. The smell of burnt food invaded his nose, forcing him to take several deep breaths through his mouth.

"Julian…"

"Seriously. I'm good. You eat your pancakes."

"Alright. If you need to talk…"

"Yeah. I know. I've done this before, remember?" Julian said shortly before pausing to recollect his thoughts. "I've already got an appointment with the guidance counsellor today," he reminded Deaton in a slower, calmer tone. "I'm just trying to get used to being back. It's… weird."

"That's understandable," Deaton said, going along with the change of topic without resisting.

As Julian loaded up his plate and took a seat next to Deaton, the vet asked, "How are the stitches holding up?"

"Fine," Julian replied, slicing into the pancakes. "The cut pretty much healed last night. It's still sore but nothing too bad."

"There's Advil in the cupboard if you need it, just don't take it on an empty stomach." He paused, the slight smile ghosting across his face again. "I'd warn you to be careful but I've known your family long enough to know that is not a Hale family trait. And you are undeniably a Hale."

"It's school," Julian pointed out, raising an eyebrow. "How much trouble do you think I can get into?"

He was almost offended when Deaton started laughing.

* * *

Exiting his first period math class, Julian made his way down the hall to where he was fairly sure his chemistry class was. _Down to the left. Or was it right? It was definitely down the stairs… wasn't it? Was that chemistry or physics?_ Frowning to himself, he paused on the stairway, unfolding his schedule to check the room number.

As he scanned the paper, he caught a familiar voice drifting up from the foot of the stairs.

"You're the only one that we can trust. Is she coming to the game tonight?" Scott was asking, earnest excitement in his voice. He was sitting next to a lanky guy with pale skin, short brown hair, and a dozen or so moles scattered across his face.

"Yes! Okay! Message complete!" the second boy said in exasperation before he abruptly dropped to a quieter one. "Alright, now tell me about your boss."

"When Deaton was bandaging me up there was someone else there; Derek's brother."

"Derek has a brother?!"

Smirking slightly, Julian pretended to keep reading the schedule, listening in with amusement.

"Apparently," Scott said, seemingly oblivious to the fact Julian was only a few feet behind them. "He's around our age, I think he might have been in our class in like grade two or something. He's like me; he's a werewolf," he added in a low tone.

"I knew Derek was lying! He's just adding more wolves while we're distracted. First Isaac, Boyd and Erica, and now his brother just shows up? That seems like a hell of a coincidence," he said, unknowingly echoing Gerard's words from the night before. "You know what Derek's family is like! Remember Peter?! What if we have another psycho werewolf on our hands?"

Julian scowled. So Derek had decided to make a pack. Resentment twisted his stomach as he thought of the long hours and numerous appointments as the emotional and legal aftermath of Laura's death hit. Derek had been so busy 'avenging' his family that he'd forgotten about the only brother he had left.

"I don't know, Stiles," Scott said uncertainly. "When I mentioned Derek he didn't seem thrilled to hear the name, and Deaton said that he was staying with him."

Smiling shortly at a girl walking down the steps who gave him an odd look, Julian folded up his schedule slowly as he continued to eavesdrop.

"Deaton thinks that Allison's family keep some kind of records of all the things that they've hunted," Scott was saying. "Like a book."

"He probably means a bestiary," his friend mused.

"A what?" Julian could hear the barely contained laughter in Scott's voice.

"A bestiary."

"I think you mean 'bestiality.'"

"Nope. Pretty sure I don't," Stiles responded with a half-curious half-exasperated look. "It's like an encyclopedia of mythical creatures."

Julian hesitated. Part of him wanted to go down those steps and make a snarky comment. To scare the crap out of both of them before joining into the discussion. To join in and _help._ To do what his mother had always said to. _Our family has watched over this town before it even was a town. We are the guides, the defenders._

The other part of him kept his legs from moving.

The part that remembered the agonizing pain of a sword shoved through his stomach. The hurried midnight packing and racing down the highway scanning for any sign of the red Kia. The nights when Laura made pudding at three am because neither of them could sleep. The burning of his lungs as his vision filled with smoke and screams took over his hearing. The smell of his family _burning…_ Laura lunging for Derek as he stopped in his tracks. _'They're dead! They're dead, Derek! If you go back, you will be too! I'm not losing anyone else!'_

With a jolt, Julian came back to the present to find he had a white-knuckle grip on the strap of his bag, the class schedule crumpling in the other hand. Blinking a couple of times to make sure that his eyes were dry, he took several unsteady breaths before he cleared his throat and strode directly past Scott and Stiles without looking at them.

 _Not my problem,_ he repeated, the mantra falling in time with his footsteps.

* * *

He was only a couple of minutes late for chemistry, though from the expression on the teacher's face, he might as well have been an hour late and covered in mud. The disdain on the man's face was clear as he took in his new student. "Mr. Hale, I take it? You're late."

"Sorry, sir. I got lost."

For a good few seconds, Julian was sure the man was going to yell at him in front of the entire class. He didn't though, just stabbed a finger at the shelves near the back of the room. "There are extra textbooks at the back and there is an empty seat next to Ms. Reyes."

Slipping in between the desks, Julian quickly glanced around the class. There were several vaguely familiar faces, namely Scott and Stiles, but also a girl he was pretty sure was named Jessica and Greenberg, who even after six years was still recognisable.

The teacher, Mr. Harris according to the nameplate on his desk, jabbed a finger at the board. "You already know what to do," he droned. "Not that you know _how_ to do it."

Opening his textbook to the appropriate page, Julian realised that the girl on his right was studying him with an almost predatory smile. Sneaking a quick glance at her, he couldn't help but feel ill at ease. Inhaling quickly, his suspicions were confirmed. Under the cloying perfumes, sweat, and deodorant that permeated the air, Julian could smell _it._

 _Derek you idiot,_ he thought, rolling his eyes skywards as he took in the girl next to him. A part of him had hoped that his brother turning people was a mistake. He'd known it was true but there was a tiny part of his heart that held onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't related to such a massive idiot.

Figuring that it was probably best to just get this all over with, Julian turned to face the blonde girl next to him. Dressed in a tight leather jacket and short skirt, her clothes and makeup would have fit better at a club rather than a tenth grade chemistry class.

Still looking at the girl next to him, a small part of his brain hoped desperately that she hadn't heard his name, but with the way things had been going since he'd arrived in town, it was unlikely. In addition to getting stabbed and now being seated next to a beta who was definitely going to tell Derek he was in town, apparently Gerard was daylighting as a principal.

The blonde girl gave him a lazy smile. "Hale, huh?" she practically purred.

Julian stiffened slightly and his eyes narrowed. There wasn't much point in denying it. The family resemblance was hardly deniable and it wasn't as though there were many Hale families in Beacon Hills. "So you're Derek's new beta."

"I'm Erica," she said with a smirk. "You know, Derek never mentioned any family. Aside from Peter, and you seem a little young to be him," she said with a pout.

"How perceptive of you," he said dryly.

She cocked her head to one side and gave him a once-over. "You're like us, aren't you? You here to join up?"

Julian scoffed at that and gave her a sharp smile. "Not even close," he said.

Erica's posture shifted slightly into something more predatory. "You here to hurt us?"

"I think that the Argents have that covered," he responded scornfully. After a brief moment of silence, he spoke. "I suppose you're going to run back to my brother and tell him I'm back."

"Is there a reason I shouldn't?"

"No, I suppose not," he admitted, bad temperedly picking up his pencil he attempted to ignore the girl in favour of the chemistry equations in front of him. Glancing up briefly, he caught Scott angling his head slightly towards the conversation. _Another master of subtlety._

"Are you going to spend the entire class ignoring me?" Erica asked. "That's rude." There was an edge to her tone now.

"I could always stab you with a pencil if you don't shut up and leave me alone," Julian offered with a glare.

"You're not kidding." Erica laughed, her smirk widening into a full on grin. "You and Derek are definitely related," she continued. "Remember the 'werewolf healing' perk?" she asked, her eyes flaring gold.

"You do realise you can still feel pain," Julian muttered darkly as he filled in the answer.

"Pain passes," she said dismissively. "Besides, after the last fifteen years, a pencil is _nothing."_ For a moment, her gaze hardened and her smile vanished. Then they were back in place, the smile back and her posture relaxed once more. "Come on. We're desk buddies. You can't ignore me _all_ semester."

Ignoring her, Julian raised his hand to catch Mr. Harris' attention. "Is there a problem, Mr. Hale?"

"I'm having trouble seeing the board," he said, gesturing at Greenberg. The massive teen was seated directly in front of him. Julian wasn't short, he just wasn't all that tall, and seeing the board _did_ actually require leaning out into the aisle. After all, it was a better excuse than 'the girl next to me is in league with my asshole of a brother'. "It's affecting my ability to learn. May I please move seats?"

Harris nodded, rolling his eyes and pointing out a seat a few rows away next to a brunette girl.

"Thank you, sir." Tossing Erica a smirk, Julian dumped his books on the desk and spent the rest of the period blissfully not talking to his new deskmate.

Beacon Hills was full of the supernatural. And while Erica was probably right about him not being able to ignore it for the rest of the time he was living here, he didn't have to get involved.

Not getting involved lasted all of four hours.

* * *

 **Authors Note: Hey! I really appreciate the reviews, thank you so much for your feedback, it means a lot.**

 **Sorry this was short. It was originally part of the next chapter but it got too long. I'm hoping to get the next chapter up by Friday (depends on how NaNo goes). Thanks again.**


	3. Chapter 3

Julian didn't get lacrosse. The only reason he'd gone was to convince Deaton that he was, in fact, trying to 'join in the school community'. To his credit, Deaton had attempted to explain the rules when he'd dropped Julian off but had given up upon seeing the increasingly confused expression on the dark-haired teen's face. "Whoever scores the most points wins; you're cheering for the team in red," he's summarized.

It was pure chance that Julian turned when he did. After spotting Gerard Argent in the crowd, he'd decided to go home. As he'd walked towards the main road, he had turned just in time to catch a glance of Stiles, dressed in a bright red outfit, trying to surreptitiously sneak into the school clutching something in his hands. Erica was about fifteen feet back, stalking after the oblivious brunette with a predatory gait.

Momentarily torn, Julian swore under his breath before following the two into the school. _You could just let it happen. No reason to keep going. Not like she's going to kill him, so why bother getting involved? What happened to regaining some semblance of control away from all this shit?_ he asked himself, but his legs kept propelling him towards the school all the same. _You can stop anytime now. Just turn back and go home._

 _Dammit._

It wasn't difficult to remain unnoticed by either of them. Stiles was too focused on the task at hand to notice Erica trailing him. Meanwhile Erica didn't expect to be followed and was so fixated on Stiles that she didn't notice Julian behind her, even with the less-than-stealthy slap of his Converse on the tile floor of the hallway.

Stiles could be heard fiddling with the keys to what Julian assumed was Gerard's office. _Must be looking for the bestiary while he's busy._ Ducking into a classroom, Julian stepped out of Erica's line of sight and focused on his hearing. Imagining that he was expanding his mind, he reached outwards until he could hear a rapid heartbeat… Rummaging through papers and yanking open drawers. Only ten feet or so away was another heartbeat, one beating rapidly not with fear but with anticipation.

A few minutes of rustling papers and muffled swearing later, the faint pad of footsteps came followed by Erica's gloating voice. "Hello, Stiles." Then came the sound of Stiles being led out of the room by Erica, making distressed squeaking noises all the while. He was in pain and his heartrate was shooting up even higher.

 _Last chance to turn back. Just stay where you are. You don't have to interfere. It's not your problem._

But it was. Derek was a Hale and his brother, and that meant that Julian couldn't just ignore the stupid stuff that he did, no matter how much he desperately wanted to.

Plus, if Derek was willing to turn someone like Erica, he wouldn't have any qualms about hurting Stiles. Not if he thought he was a threat or was in the way of what he wanted. Derek wasn't the brother who taught him to shoot a basketball, or took him and Cora to the park every Saturday. Not anymore.

While Julian didn't really remember Stiles (he may have been the guy who turned his baking soda volcano into a baking soda vomiting t-rex), he did remember his father. The deputy who had helped Julian and his siblings grab what little had survived the fire. The one who had helped Laura try to load the coach onto the roof of the car and hadn't left until it was properly tied to the roof. Even though tying it down took almost two hours. The Sheriff who had reopened the fire case and proven to the world that Kate Argent did in fact set the fire that killed eight people. The person who had finally revealed Kate for the monster she was.

"You two going somewhere?" Julian called over, stepping out of the shadows, keeping his hands at his sides. If it came down to it, he was confident that he could take Erica in a fight, but with Stiles in the way that wasn't an option.

Erica turned her head and bared her fangs in a twisted smirk. Stiles strained his neck to see who had spoken, his brown eyes wide and flicking around nervously, and his heartrate picking up even more.

"What does Derek want?" Julian asked, walking forwards before stopping about five feet away from the two. He kept his weight on his back foot, his front foot light; a neutral trance that Erica didn't notice.

"We need to have a quick chat with Stiles here," Erica said sweetly, her claws digging deeper and prompting a squeak of pain.

"You know, I don't think that claws are a necessary part of everyday conversation," Stiles began to ramble. "Or at least not for humans. Which you were, like a week ago, so if we could just..."

Erica rolled her eyes.

Julian took a step forward. "How about you take your claws out of his arm."

"Now why would I do a silly thing like that?" When Julian didn't answer, Erica's expression soured. "I'm not letting him go."

"You need Stiles to talk to Derek, fine." Taking another step forward, Julian gave her a tight smile. Derek was going to get to Stiles no matter what. At least this way Julian could make sure he didn't kill him. "Then you can release him and then the three of us can have a chat with my brother. One that doesn't involve you wolfing out in front of a bunch of cameras or those people down the hall."

Snarling in the back of her throat, Erica tossed the other werewolf a contemptuous look before releasing her grip on Stiles and pointing jerkily forwards. "Come on, Derek's waiting." She waited expectantly as Stiles remained frozen. Julian started walking forwards, giving Stiles an encouraging look that did nothing. The half-shifted look Erica gave him was significantly more persuasive.

As they continued on their way, the smell of chlorine grew ever stronger until they stopped outside the pool. Stiles nervously stepped through the door with his heart hammering in his chest. Julian followed suit, his hands in his pockets as he took in the pool area.

It was large with high ceilings and a glass skylight that turned the light to a shade of blueish green. The air was thick and warm, the heavy scent of chlorine everywhere. Standing with a basketball clasped in his hands, Derek looked up with a self-satisfied smile. "Stiles."

"Derek."

The smile rapidly disappeared when Derek caught sight of Julian standing behind Stiles, leaning casually against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, his fingers drumming against his arm, and a sarcastic smile on his face. "Hey big bro. Been awhile."

Brow furrowing, Derek asked, "What are you doing here, Jules?"

"Making sure you don't do something stupid. You know, I always heard that was supposed to be the older brother's job."

"I meant why are you _here._ In Beacon Hills."

"Remember how Laura died and you went off on a brave quest to find her killer," Julian said conversationally, hoping that the heavy scent of the chlorine would prevent Derek from realizing how uncomfortable he was. "And you totally forgot that she was my legal guardian?"

Derek's perpetual scowl remained, his mouth tightening slightly.

The two of them had never been close before the fire, let alone after it.

While Julian was hardly going to blame Derek for being distant, Derek had just shut everyone out and run. The second he'd turned eighteen he'd left in the middle of the night without any warning. Laura had thought he was dead. She'd almost killed him when he showed up out of the blue six months later.

After that things had been strained. Laura and Julian finally started to settle; Julian started art school and Laura found law school, where she later met Neil, while Derek just roamed; flitting from place to place, often staying out of contact for weeks or even months at a time.

"I thought you were with Neil," Derek said. "I was busy, and I didn't think-"

"That's the problem," Julian snapped, rage bubbling up. "While you were off getting yourself arrested, you missed everything. You didn't bother checking on me once! And now I've been here less than a week and I got stabbed because you are incapable of solving anything without punching it! You weren't the only one who lost someone," he continued angrily. Derek started to speak but Julian cut him off, doing his best to keep his composure. "You missed the reading of the will, by the way," he said tightly, unfolding his arms. "And the fact that you're no longer my legal guardian. Is it ironic that after it was decided you weren't fit to take care of me that you went and adopted three people?"

"I didn't know you were coming or I would have warned you about the Argents. They're why I turned the others. Erica and the rest of the pack deserved better and I gave that to them. We're stronger together. Remember?" Derek said earnestly though his voice was edged with badly concealed frustration.

Julian snorted derisively and rolled his eyes.

Laughing nervously, Stiles took a step back, bringing Derek's attention back to him. "Look, I hate to break up this loving family discussion, so if I could just-"

"You're not going anywhere until you tell me what you saw at the mechanic's garage." Derek's tone left no room for argument.

"Several alarming EPA violations that I'm seriously considering reporting," Stiles said with a nervous grin.

Unless his brother had changed substantially since the last time Julian had seen him, the sarcastic remark was likely to do little for Derek's humour. Julian was right. Derek crushed the basketball in his hands in one smooth motion, smiling all the while. Heartrate shooting up, Stiles gulped loudly enough that even non-werewolves would have heard it. "Holy God."

"Let's try that again," Derek said with a chilling smile.

"Derek, stop scaring the human," Julian said, shooting his older brother a disapproving look.

"The mechanic was killed by _something_ that's already killed one of Argent's men and the father of one of my betas. And this twerp saw the whole thing, so he's going to tell us what he saw."

Eyes flicking between the two Hales and the crushed basketball, Stiles gave Julian almost pleading look.

"Just tell him what he wants to know. It'll be faster this way," Julian told him.

"Come on, Stiles," Derek demanded, tossing the deflated ball to one side. "Sooner rather than later."

"Alright. The thing was pretty slick-looking. Um… skin was dark," Stiles recalled. "Kind of patterned… I think I actually saw scales. Is that enough? Okay? 'Cause I really need to talk to-"

The low growl from Derek's throat prompted Julian to roll his eyes skywards. Derek had always had a flare for the dramatic, that much hadn't changed. Stiles on the other hand started speaking rapidly, or more rapidly than usual, once more. "Alright! Fine! Eyes were yellowish and slitted. Has a lot of teeth. Oh! And it's got a tail too. Are we good?"

Catching the unsatisfied expression on Derek's face, Stiles kept talking but Julian ignored him. He could have sworn he'd heard something clicking on the balcony above the two of them… Looking to his brother, Julian saw he and Erica were staring up with wide eyes.

"You have this look on your faces like you know exactly what I'm talking about…" Stiles was saying.

Slowly and carefully stepping forwards, Julian kept his eyes up as he reached for Stiles, the red-clad teen looking up to see whatever was up on the balcony. An animalistic hiss sounded and _something_ leaped down at the four of them.

"Run!" Derek yelled, shoving Stiles towards Julian, who grabbed the teen by the arm and started to drag him towards the exit of the pool as a loud smash sounded from behind them. He got all of five steps before something curled around his left ankle and yanked him backwards, forcing him to let go of Stiles.

Hitting the tile floor of the pool deck with enough force to knock the wind out of him, Julian rolled over to see the monster Stiles had described, its tail wrapped around his ankle. Shifting, the dark-haired teen attempted to kick at the thing's tail but it didn't seem to care, simply tilted its head and studied him with inhuman yellow eyes.

Derek charged at it, taking a swipe only for it to leap out of the way, its tail rapidly uncoiling and shooting towards Derek's head.

Snarling, Julian pushed himself up and swung his elbow at the creature with the intent of diverting it's aim. Reacting with speed that even a werewolf couldn't match, the creature grabbed his arm, claws digging deep into the flesh, and redirected the momentum, briefly unbalancing him. Returning automatically to a neutral stance, Julian drew his leg out to the side, delivering a powerful roundhouse kick to the distracted creature's ribcage as its attention returned to a panicking Stiles.

The creature let out a hiss of pain and skittered back a few steps.

A deep growl from behind informed Julian that Derek had shifted.

"Derek, your neck," Stiles warned.

About to yell at Stiles for staying, Julian felt his legs give out from under him and he pitched over, a numb hand attempting to catch himself as his features reverted to human. _Capable of rendering its victims completely helpless…_ Deaton's words echoed in his skull as he desperately tried to see where the creature had gone. He'd landed on his side, forcing him to crane his neck to spot Derek.

His brother was being dragged along by Stiles, the teen struggling to hold up the weight of the larger man.

"Call Scott," Derek ordered, his neck twisting to spot Julian on the ground. "Jules!"

"I can't move," he called back.

"Shit," his brother muttered. "I-" his words became an inarticulate cry as Stiles shoved the Alpha into the pool as the reptilian creature closed in. The teen's eyes briefly went to the phone lying on the ground and the creature running towards him. Diving into the pool, Stiles popped up, supporting Derek and trying to keep the man's head out of the water.

"Where did it go? Do you see it?" Stiles asked, his head whipping around as he attempted to spot the creature.

"No."

"Okay. Maybe it took off," Stiles said hopefully.

A ringing screech echoed through the pool area. With the odd acoustics it was impossible to pinpoint the sound.

"Maybe not," Derek remarked darkly.

* * *

As the seconds, then minutes crawled by there was no sign of the lizard-like creature. Only the faint sound of it scuttling around. Julian thought he caught a glimpse of it once or twice but quickly lost sight of it. Even though he was pretty sure that it wasn't interested in him, there was something terrible about lying helplessly on the ground while a monster prowled in the shadows. _It's here for Stiles or Derek. It's left you and Erica alone,_ he reasoned. _If it wanted us dead, it would have killed us by now._

It wasn't an all around comforting thought.

"Stiles, get me out of this damn pool before I drown!" Derek yelled, finally snapping. Helplessness was not something that werewolves were accustomed to, and with Stiles as the only thing keeping him alive Derek was no doubt freaking out. Talia had insisted on swimming lessons for the entire family, but Derek hadn't ever enjoyed them. Not that swimming lessons helped much when you were paralyzed.

"You're worried about drowning?!" Stiles exclaimed. "Did you notice the thing out there with razor sharp teeth?"

"It's got a tail too," Julian said added softly, his eyes going wide as he heard the distinct sound of claws on the ground behind him. As the sound faded away, he released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Not having heard him, Derek snapped. "Did you notice that I'm paralyzed from the neck down in eight feet of water?!"

With the immediate threat out of sight, Julian was suddenly conscious of the wet feeling spreading under his coat and the insistent pain in his arm. The wounds had gone deeper than he'd thought, deep scratches that had torn the skin as though it were made of paper. _Remember the guy at Deaton's,_ he thought as he studied the gashes.

On the bright side, the paralysis was hopefully keeping him from accidentally screwing up the healing process as it worked at the delicate network of muscle and connective tissue. And he'd been lucky enough that the wound was facing upwards, not pressed against the dirty floor.

He tried to move his uninjured arm but nothing happened; his muscles didn't respond and there was no movement. Like a disconnected controller.

Starting small didn't work either; his finger was just as unresponsive as his arm. Now that he was fairly sure the kanima wasn't after him and the adrenaline had worn off, lying on the ground like this was almost boring.

Still trying to flex the joint, Julian turned his attention back to his increasingly frustrated and panicked brother.

"How long till this wears off?" Derek continued ranting.

"I don't know," Stiles panted defensively. "I was paralyzed for an hour or so before it wore off, but I didn't get hit in the spine."

Grumbling to himself, Derek spat out water. "You feeling anything?" he called over to his brother.

"Not at all," Julian responded irritably, staring at his finger as though it were the root of all evil. "Though I'm not the one stuck in the swimming pool. And I think you're the ones it wants to kill. It's left me alone. Erica too."

"Jules, I can still smell blood," Derek said, worry entering his voice.

"It got my arm. If I remember correctly, I'm supposed to apply pressure. Which is kind of hard because of the whole 'can't move anything lower than my neck' problem."

There was the sound of half-underwater cursing. "Jules, you need to trigger the healing process. Dig your nails in or something."

"Why didn't I think of that?" Julian retorted sarcastically. "My fingers aren't that long, you know."

"Just try!" Derek snapped.

"Fine," Julian muttered. Forcing himself to shift, he bit down hard on his cheek and tongue, filling his mouth with blood. "There. How'th that."

"Good. The pain will help," Derek said. Julian wondered if he was trying to comfort his younger brother or himself. "Stiles, if you don't get me out of this damn pool, I swear I'll-"

Derek's rant was cut off by the creature dropping out of the shadows to stalk around the swimming pool, studying its prey. "What's it waiting for?"

As soon as the words left the man's mouth, the creature set a foot in the water only to jerk it out, scuttling backwards and hissing.

"Wait, did you see that?" Stiles said excitedly. "I don't think it can swim."

"Great," Derek responded sarcastically as he popped Stiles' bubble of hope. "Now all it has to do is wait for us to drown."

* * *

As time crawled on, Julian could hear Stiles' breathing becoming more and more laboured.

"Hey, Derek," Stiles piped up tiredly. "You know you said that thing about it just waiting for us to drown."

"What is it?" Derek asked in an angry, clipped voice

"That might not be too long," Stiles admitted. "I can't keep this up for much longer."

"No no no no. Don't even think about it!" Derek yelled, the fear in his voice bleeding through.

"Can't you trust me this once?" Stiles asked in exasperation.

Tuning out the angry response, Julian looked at his arm. The blood loss had certainly slowed, trickling out of slightly smaller looking gashes. Looking back up, he spotted the reptilian creature was still pacing around the edge of the pool letting out occasional hisses of anger as it stared at its cornered but out of reach prey.

Focusing on his fingers, Julian attempted to clench his uninjured hand into a fist. His ring finger twitched in response. _Maybe the healing process is working,_ he considered. Biting down hard on his newly healed tongue, he kept trying to wiggle his fingers.

"Derek, I can move my finger," he said quietly.

"Oh that's a relief. Maybe you can use it to defeat the thing," Derek retorted.

"What are you talking about?" Stiles asked, the exhaustion was evident in his voice. Keeping them both above the water was going to prove too difficult soon. "Look, I'm gonna grab my phone and call Scott."

Derek's angry growl was tainted with rising panic. "You drop me and I will rip your throat out."

"I hate to be a stickler for technicalities," Stiles began.

"I'll rip your throat out then, does that work?" Julian said in an annoyed tone. "Derek, just take a deep breath and keep your heartrate down. Neither of us are going anywhere anytime soon, and that's going to be a serious problem for you soon."

Derek was vehemently shaking his head. "Don't you dare you son of a-"

"Deep breath, Derek," Stiles said, dropping Derek and beginning a front-crawl. Making a beeline for the phone, he lunged at the device and pushed off the wall, narrowly missing the lizard-creature's talons.

Dialing rapidly, Stiles held the phone to his ear. "Scott! I-" The expression on Stiles face would have been almost comical had the situation been different. As it was, Stiles gaping like a fish while saying "He hung up on me," was more horrifying than anything else.

"Dammit," Stiles muttered before chucking the phone to the side and disappearing back under the water, popping up with a gasping Derek.

Relief that his brother hadn't drowned spread through Julian though he couldn't help but feel the last remnants of hope draining out of him. Even if the creature couldn't swim it was only a matter of time until they drowned. The staff would have already left by now and the odds of someone stumbling in and being capable of fighting the creature were low.

Time kept crawling on, and Julian had managed to move his stiff arm a couple of inches. The limb was still rigid though, and the attempt to push himself up had resulted in slamming his face into the tile floor of the pool deck. Gritting his teeth together, he forced his arm beneath his shoulder. "It's starting to wear off but I can't walk yet," he called over. If he could just roll himself over, he'd be able to get to his phone.

Stiles meanwhile had managed to last an impressively long time before he finally gave in. "I can't stay up any longer. I need something to hold on to," he said, his words filled with water as he struggled to keep his head up.

Julian gritted his teeth together and tried roll himself over, frustration building towards his uncooperative limbs.

Stiles made his way towards the diving board, his strokes sloppy and exhausted. If Stiles could just hold out a little longer than they'd be good.

The doors to the pool swung open, Scott coming bursting through the door, already wolfed out.

"Get Stiles and Derek!" Julian yelled at him, turning in time to see Stiles miss the diving board and slip under the water.

Scott nodded and raced forwards, plunging his hands into the water and yanking up both Stiles and Derek, the spluttering and coughing sending a wave of relief through Julian. _He's alive._

The creature hissed in rage as Scott began to fight it. Moving on stiff limbs, Julian managed to push himself into a kneeling position, lifting his head in time to see the creature stare at Scott, now armed with some sort of blade, before racing away and jumping through the window with a crash.

"Stiles, are you alright?"

"Yeah. Yeah I'm fine. Your timing, man..." Stiles said weakly as Scott helped him to his feet.

"Hey, you okay?" Scott asked as he walked quickly over to where Julian was kneeling.

"That's a lot of blood," Stiles muttered, his face even paler than normal.

Scott bent over and helped Julian to his feet, the shorter teen's legs were still stiff and he nearly fell until Scott steadied him. "Are you hurt or have you healed?"

"Worst of it's healed. Paralysis is starting to wear off. Derek still alive?"

Stiles nodded.

"Thanks," Julian said, shooting his brother's prone form a glance. "He's an asshole but he's still my brother."

"Yeah, uh... right," Stiles said before he regained his normal conversation speed. "We should leave. Like now, before that thing comes back."

"I'll help you out," Scott offered, slinging Julian's arm over his shoulder and beginning to walk forward, careful to keep his pace slow so that Julian could keep up even with his unsteady legs. "Stiles, I am so sorry. Allison and I were in Gerard's room, we thought we found the book… I'm sorry."

"So the entire night was a waste of time. Other than getting attacked by a freaking lizard monster, of course." Stiles was soaked to the bone, every step he took making a sloshing noise.

"No, we found the bestiary!" Scott proclaimed cheerfully as the three of them exited the hallways to the cool night air. "It was on his keychain… The USB, Allison figured it out. I grabbed it just before I heard the kanima."

"You found the Argent's bestiary?" Julian was impressed. "Already?"

"Why are we having this conversation in front of Mini-Derek?" Stiles questioned, shooting the half-paralyzed werewolf a suspicious look. "For all we know he could be a spy! Working for Derek. Gaining our trust."

"Before doing what?" Stiles turned to stare at Julian, whose eyebrow was arched and his expression amused. "I'm just curious how my devious plan ends."

"I don't know, but it's definitely… evil."

"Glad to clear that up," Julian remarked tiredly as he unhooked his arm from around Scott to lean heavily against the car. Catching sight of his arm he winced. It looked like he was wearing a glove; the dried blood crusting over the skin. "Look, I'm Nefarian Serpine," he said irritably.

Scott looked confused and concerned, Stiles rolled his eyes, his lips quirking up into the beginnings of a smile. "Just because you've read _Skulduggery Pleasant_ doesn't mean I'm going to trust you."

Julian laughed wryly as he focused on flexing his arm and rotating his foot experimentally. He didn't quite have full range of motion back but the paralysis was wearing off more and more quickly.

"Try not to wave your arm around, there might still be people around," Scott cautioned before stopping by a car. "I've got a laptop in the back," he informed Stiles. "Let's see if we can find out anything about this thing."

"Preferably before it kills us," Stiles grumbled.

"Kills you, you mean. It left Erica and I alone," Julian pointed out.

Stiles gave him a withering look.

Ignoring them both, Scott retrieved his laptop from the car and plugged in a USB drive. Opening the only file on the drive, Scott's expression went from hopeful to confused. Looking over his shoulder, Stiles and Julian's expressions soon mirrored Scott's.

"Is that even a language?" Stiles asked, squinting and leaning towards the screen as though doing so would suddenly make the words morph into English.

"Maybe Latin of some kind?" Julian suggested. "The lettering is Latin-based."

"How are we supposed to figure out what this thing is?" Scott burst out in frustration.

"It's called a kanima," Derek said, materializing with Erica alongside him.

"That thing was a kanima?" Julian asked. From what little he could remember of the stories off the top of his head, the kanima was just a twisted version of them. Peter had used to tease some of the younger kids that the kanima would come for them if they were bad. It was some kind of revenge-driven creature, but Julian couldn't remember it ever being described as 'reptilian'. Or being described as anything really.

"Wait, you knew what it was the whole time?" Scott demanded.

Derek shook his head. "No, only when it was confused by its own reflection."

"It doesn't know what it is?" Scott asked, behind him, Stiles' eyes went wide with realization.

"Or who."

"So then why attack us?" Julian mused. "If it doesn't know who it is then it's not in control. Maybe subconsciously…"

"I don't know any more than you do," Derek said. "Just stories. Rumours."

Brow furrowing, Scott asked, "It's like us?"

"A shapeshifter, yes but it's not right. It's like a…."

"An abomination," Stiles supplied quietly, his expression solemn.

"Derek, we need to work together on this," Scott declared earnestly. "Maybe even tell the Argents."

"You trust them?" Derek and Julian exclaimed as one.

"Nobody trusts anyone! That's the problem!" Scott declared. "While we're here arguing about who's on what side there's something scarier, stronger and faster than any of us and it's killing people. And we still don't know anything about it!"

Julian winced. Scott wasn't wrong. Infighting was bound to just make catching the creature harder, and those deaths were on the heads of those who refused to cooperate. _As well as those who stand by_ , he thought darkly.

While asking the Argents for help did seem like a recipe for disaster and getting stabbed, Scott wasn't wrong in saying that pooling resources would make it easier to catch the kanima. If it had gone after Stiles then who knew who else it would target.

"I know one thing. When I find it, I'm gonna kill it," Derek stated vehemently.

Julian stared at his feet feeling torn.

His brother wanted to kill this thing, but it didn't know who it was… It wasn't right to kill someone for something so out of their control.

He'd lost his family because people thought they were monsters. Was the kanima so different? Were they not monsters if they killed someone for something they probably didn't even realise was happening?

Peter had deserved what he had gotten, just as Kate had. This was different though. Until they had more information, making such an ultimatum was stupid and short-sighted. Depending on who it was and why it was attacking... Regardless, killing it wasn't the best option.

Then there was Scott. Who was so horribly optimistic that he honestly thought that the Argents would help. That they had a responsibility not only to the potential victims but also to the kanima itself.

"Jules, are you coming or are you staying?" Derek asked. It was clear that he was asking his brother to pick a side. It was also clear what answer he expected. Julian remained silent, his expression conflicted. Derek stared at him in shock, betrayal radiating off of him. "Jules, I know you're mad but we're family."

"Yeah, we are family. And when you want to talk to your brother, give me a call. But if you need a beta… Well you seem to have that covered," Julian said bitterly, stuffing his hands into his pockets and looking his brother in the eye, knowing that the older man could feel his own betrayal and anger. Derek was the last family he had, but that didn't mean he was going to follow him blindly.

Taking a deep breath, Julian turned to Scott and Stiles. "I've got to go. See you in chemistry."

As he made his way towards the main road, this time, he didn't hesitate.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Hey, thanks for reading, just a few things.**

 **First off, to the person who asked about pairings, I haven't settled on anything, though Scott is someone I'm considering (I genuinely enjoy writing the dynamic between the two of them). If anyone's got any suggestions/thoughts/opinions, I'm open. This won't be romance-oriented though.**

 **Also, the next chapter (which should go up later today, I just need to finish editing it) does contain some cursing (Pretty sure it still falls withing PG-13 guidelines). It's pretty minimal but I figured I'd give a heads up just in case.**

 **Thanks again.**

* * *

"You know sometimes I really begin to question to question this 'friendship'!" Stiles said loudly, prompting several confused looks from the other students in the hallway.

Julian wasn't one of them. In the small amount of time he'd spent with Stiles, he'd come to realize that it probably wasn't such an unusual thing for him to say.

"Hey, can we talk for a minute?" Scott called over, a mischievous smile fading from his face as he walked over to where Julian was standing, attempting to find his 4B pencil.

"What's with him?" Julian asked, not really answering the question.

Scott didn't seem phased. "Do you know anything about the kanima? Stiles did some research but all he could find was that it's a were-jaguar that goes after murderers. And that wasn't exactly a were-jaguar. And Stiles says he hasn't killed anyone."

"Hey, if I killed someone you'd know because I would need someone to bury the body," Stiles chimed in. "You could use your werewolf powers to dig me a hole."

Not to be distracted, Scott fixed Julian with an expectant look.

"Some stories from when I was kid, that's about it. It's a werewolf gone wrong; creates some messed up thing," Julian recalled with a noncommittal shrug. "Peter used to tell everyone that if you were bad that the kanima would get you," Julian continued, the mention of his uncle only feeding his discomfort and unease. "It's sort of the werewolf equivalent of the boogey man."

"So, nothing useful," Stiles summarized.

"Because 'were-jaguar' was?" Julian retorted. "And it's not like this is common; everyone talked about them like they were a myth. And I was six." Digging through his pencil case, Julian found the pencil and tucked it back in the case with his art supplies.

Sensing that the conversation was at an end, Scott and Stiles exchanged a look before turning to head down the hall.

Julian swore under his breath and dug his hands into his pockets. He was tempted to just let them walk away, but they needed help, and if the kanima went after Stiles, who knew who else it might try to kill. "Look, I… Snakes," he started. Scott and Stiles stopped, regarding him curiously. Julian shifted restlessly before he verbally plowed forwards. "They have syringe-like teeth; the venom gets pushed from a gland through the fangs and into whatever they're biting. Venomous lizards can work differently. They chew so that the venom on their teeth gets into the wound. Their teeth aren't hollow; the venom is in grooves in the teeth."

"The kanima has claws," Scott pointed out.

"And a tail," Stiles muttered.

Julian gave them an annoyed look for the interruption. "Shifters take their qualities from a certain animal though. You and I have enhanced senses; but it's mainly hearing and smell, and there's need to belong to a pack. Those are all things we share with wolves. But the kanima isn't like that; there aren't lizards with venomous claws and tail barbs."

Scott frowned. "So it has to be a type of animal?"

"No, it doesn't," Stiles realized excitedly. "It's an abomination, right? It's not even an animal, it's a total abomination."

Julian shrugged again. "Doesn't help much. But it's something, right?"

"Platypuses have a needle-thing on their back leg, but it's not a claw either. It's a spur; like a really poisonous cowboy boot... " Stiles said idly. "There's gotta be a venom gland…" he muttered half to himself.

"I thought it was platypi," Scott commented, his brows furrowing.

"Hey, at least you weren't bitten by a were-platypus," Stiles said, nudging Scott in the arm with a wide grin. "Grow a duck bill once a month."

"I don't think that thing was a were-platypus," Julian said. "If it was than it would have been able to swim."

Stiles stared at Julian's deadpan expression, trying to gauge whether or not he was joking.

Scott rolled his eyes and grinned. "We need to get that book translated," he declared. "We have to find out who it is before Derek does," he finished, shooting a quick and uncomfortable glance towards Julian.

"I'm aware my brother is an idiot," Julian said exasperatedly. _But he is still my brother._ The thought only deepened his scowl. A scowl that turned thoughtful as he thought about the events of the night before. "Maybe it wasn't after Stiles," he mused. "Maybe it was after Derek."

"Derek? Who did- Oh."

"Yeah," Julian said darkly with a grimace. "That." Taking a calming breath, he forced a grin and turned to Stiles. "Or you know, it could be trying to kill you. Now it's just waiting for the opportunity to paralyze you before it shreds you to pieces.

"Both of you suck," Stiles proclaimed. "Especially you," he added, jabbing an accusatory finger at Julian who gave him a mock-hurt expression.

"We'll figure it out," Scott reassured them confidently.

The other werewolf gave him a reluctant nod. "If you guys need help," he said uncomfortably. "I can... I mean it's not like avoiding this crap has been going all that well, and…"

"We'll call you," Scott said with a smile.

* * *

Julian could smell the nervousness radiating off of Scott and Stiles as he made his way into chemistry class. The two were crammed next to a pretty redhead from Julian's art class. Lydia, if he remembered correctly. She'd been the head of the popular crowd back in elementary school, and things didn't look like they'd changed if her outfit and demeanour were anything to go by.

Scott was shooting nervous looks to the concerned brunette- Allison Argent as it had turned out- and nodding at the desk behind him where Erica was sitting with a guy Julian didn't recognize.

 _This better not backfire,_ Julian thought as he nervously set his books down next to Allison and gently tapped her on the shoulder. "What's going on?" he asked, hoping that she was not about to kill him. _Scott and Stiles trust her,_ he told himself. _And not every hunter is like Kate, remember the two brothers back in Lawrence?_ Sure the two had tried to shoot Laura with a silver bullet, but after she had explained things (they were under the impression that werewolves couldn't control their shifts and that silver actually did work) the brothers had sent them 'apology apple pie'. Admittedly, the pie was missing a noticeable chunk, but it wasn't laced with wolfsbane and it was actually pretty good.

 _Not every hunter is Kate,_ Julian repeated. _Just like you're not Peter._

Allison shot a look at Scott who gave her an affirmative nod before continuing to unsubtly gesture at Erica and the guy beside her. The blonde girl was wearing a self-satisfied sneer to match her neighbour's, both of them dressed in leather jackets.

 _Really, Derek?_ Julian thought as he narrowed his eyes at the curly-haired guy. _Are you starting a pack or a shitty pop band?_

"Isaac must have gotten out of jail," Allison said.

"He was in jail?" Julian stared at her in shock, momentarily forgetting his worries about her. _Derek, who exactly did you turn?_

"He got accused of killing his father," Allison explained quickly. "It wasn't him; it was the lizard- the kanima… But…" she trailed off, squinting as she tried to understand the words Stiles was trying to mouth at them. He stopped, either realizing that he was abysmal at doing so, remembering that Julian had enhanced hearing, or, most likely, because of the look Lydia was giving him.

Inhaling deeply, Julian filtered through the sweat and chemicals to the dark, twisting scent of jealousy, anger and _excitement._ "They're here to kill someone," he said quietly. "Aren't they?"

Scott nodded and jerked his head at the girl next to him.

"Lydia," Allison said worriedly. "They must think it's her…" She stared at Julian for a moment. "You're Julian, aren't you? Scott mentioned you…" Her tone was uncomfortable and almost apologetic which did a great deal for his initial opinion of her.

"You're Allison, then. Scott talks about you a lot," he told her, not wanting to have the 'Your Family Killed My Family and My Family Killed Your Family' argument in chemistry, especially not when there was a present danger.

Flushing, she looked down at her hands for a moment before the concern took over again. Her brown eyes hardened and met Julian's grey-green ones. Matching the stare, the two of them formed an unspoken truce.

Nodding slightly, Allison looked to Derek's betas with a calculating gaze. "They can't kill her in class," she said. "So what are they going to do?"

Mr. Harris, a teacher who looked like a vampire and acted like the type of person who had a permanent storm cloud over his head, started talking before the two could figure out what was going on. "Einstein once said, 'Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity'," he declared, stalking over to where Stiles, Scott and Lydia were sitting. "'And I'm not sure about the universe'. I, myself have encountered infinite stupidity," he continued, clasping a hand on Stiles' shoulder. A quiet chuckle spread through the class. "So, to combat the plague of ignorance in my class, you're going to combine efforts through a round of group experiments. Let's see if two heads are indeed better than one. Or in Mr. Stilinski's case, less than one. Erica, take the first station. Start-" He stopped talking as he caught sight of the plethora of hands that shot into the air, Erica smiling lazily. "I didn't ask for volunteers. Put your hormonal little hands down," he snapped. "Start with Mr. McCall. Alright, next two," he continued, pairing off the class.

Taking his seat next to Stiles, Julian looked at the instructions and began to grab the appropriate chemicals. "Care to tell me what's going on?"

"Derek thinks that if you're immune to the kanima venom than you're the kanima," Stiles explained, his foot rapidly tapping against the bar of his seat. "He tested Jackson and now he's after Lydia."

Glancing over his shoulder at the other werewolves, Julian turned back to Stiles. "They seem a little murderous for 'just testing' her."

"Your werewolf senses picking that up?" Stiles asked sarcastically, worriedly shifting in his seat as Julian began to measure out the chemicals in front of them. "I guess they think that if it's her than they get to kill her. Gets them all riled up and ready to go."

Hesitating, Julian attempted to find the nicest way to put it before going for blunt. "What if it is her?"

"It's not," Stiles said. There wasn't a trace of uncertainty in his voice.

"I'm not saying we let her die," Julian whispered in annoyance. "I'm not a total asshole. I'm just pointing out that if it is her-"

"It's not her. I'd know it."

"Forgive me for not trusting your gut," Julian said irritably. "But I'm going to argue that if Derek thinks it could be her, then there's got to be a reason."

Stiles twitched and his heartrate picked up. Before Julian could confront him, the bell rang.

 _Ding!_ "Switch!" Mr. Harris called.

Isaac instantly made a beeline for the spot next to Lydia but Julian got there first, giving the confused looking redhead what he hoped was a comforting smile. "So, what are we doing?"

"Just try not to screw anything up," she said frostily, taking in his paint-stained jeans and _Panic!_ t-shirt with an unimpressed gaze.

"Alright then," he muttered as he gave her a quick once-over. Attractive with a curvy figure, large hazel eyes and careful waves of vibrant, strawberry blonde hair, Lydia Martin didn't seem evil. Maybe a little bit stuck-up, but from the sound of her heartbeat and the faint tang of fear in the air she was more confused than murderous. From the outside at least she didn't seem like the type of person to go around murdering people as a giant lizard creature.

"If you are done staring, I need some help."

"Sorry. I just moved back here and I'm having trouble remembering everyone's name," he half-lied. "You're Lydia, right? We're in the same art class."

"Just hold this," she ordered primly, shoving a beaker into his hands.

"Alright." Glancing around, Julian spotted Scott behind him, shooting worried looks at Allison, who was seated next to Erica. The female beta was practically snarling, leaning over to Allison, the experiment in front of them forgotten. Scott tensed as Allison let out a gasp of pain and Erica's eyes flashed gold.

 _Ding!_ "Switch!" Mr. Harris yelled.

Julian got up, intending on waiting until Scott could grab the seat, only to have the curly haired guy wrench him painfully out of the way and steal the seat with a nasty smirk. Gritting his teeth, Julian grabbed the seat next to Allison, holding his arm to his chest. If he hadn't been in class, then the asshole would be on the floor by now. Derek had passed on martial training in favour of basketball and his girlfriend. Julian hadn't.

Allison gestured to his arm. "Are you alright? Isaac-"

"I'm healing," he said, more annoyed than in pain. Isaac was strong but he lacked skill and technique to do any real damage. Besides, Isaac had just wanted the chair, not to hurt him. At least not badly.

Allison studied Isaac angrily. "He can't do anything while we're in class," she repeated. The words were undercut by the nervous tone of her voice and the white knuckled grip on her pencil.

"With what Erica just pulled I wouldn't put it past the two of them. I'm not sure who's dumber, the two of them, or Derek for turning them," Julian said, the anger and pain wearing on his self-control. Remembering what Erica had done, "Are you alright?" he asked Allison.

"Yeah, she didn't dig too deep." The brunette was lying but Julian didn't press her on it. The two of them wordlessly finished up the experiment while keeping an eye on Isaac as they waited for him to make his move. He didn't do anything though, just sat next to Lydia and tossed them the occasional smirk.

 _Ding!_ "Time," Mr. Harris declared. "If you catalyzed the reaction properly you should now be looking at a crystal." Julian glanced at the clear crystal formation in their beaker and Allison even smiled a bit. "Now, the part of that last experiment I'm sure you'll all enjoy. You can eat it."

"You can have it," Julian offered, not wanting to eat something that was literally a chemistry experiment. Allison must have felt similarly or was too focused on Lydia, as she shook her head and left the crystal where it was.

"Lydia!" Scott's shout prompted the two of them, as well as the rest of the class, to stare at the werewolf. Scott was stood halfway out of his seat, poised to grab something out of Lydia's hands. The crystal that she and Isaac had created.

"What?" the redhead asked, annoyed.

"Nothing," Scott said reluctantly as he returned to his seat.

Julian frowned. The crystal looked fine at first glance but… A glob of clear liquid caught the light. _Kanima venom on the rock crystal._ Judging by the sudden increase in Allison's heartbeat, she had noticed it as well.

Lydia bit down on the crystal chewing and swallowing, not noticing the stares of her friends or Isaac and Erica's ominous smirking. Smirks that turned into broad grins as the seconds ticked by and Lydia remained unaffected.

 _Derek is going to kill her,_ Julian realized with a growing sense of horror and disgust. _He's going to kill a sixteen year old girl._

* * *

"Derek's outside waiting for Lydia," Scott said urgently as the four teens crowded into a small, unused room.

Allison blanched. "Waiting to kill her?"

"He thinks she's the kanima," Julian said, running a hand through his hair. "He'll take that test as proof and justification. He's probably convinced himself that he's in the right."

"It's not her!" Stiles exclaimed in frustration. He looked at the other three with an expression that was both pleading and angry as he realized that none of them were going to back him up.

Scott gave him a sympathetic look. "Stiles," he said in a softer voice. "She didn't pass the test, man. Nothing happened."

Stiles was already vehemently shaking his head. "No, it can't be her."

"It doesn't matter because Derek thinks it's her," Allison said, her practicality shining through. Even though she was an Argent, Julian couldn't help but admire her focus and level headedness. "So either we can convince him that he's wrong or we've got to figure out a way to protect her."

"You're not going to be able to convince him not to do it," Julian stated. "I know my brother, he's too stubborn to admit he's wrong. It runs in the family…" Julian trailed off, his fingers tapping his thigh nervously. It was so strange to think of his brother as being willing to kill someone. Their mother had always taught them control and understanding. Their job was to protect themselves and others like them. Yet here Derek was, wanting to kill Lydia with his pack of out of control betas. Julian hadn't been close with Derek before, but now he hardly recognized him.

"I really don't think he's gonna do anything here," Scott said thoughtfully. "Not at school."

"What about after school?" Allison demanded. "What if we can prove that Derek is wrong?" she suggested, her brow furrowed in concentration as the wheels turned behind her eyes.

Stiles gave her an incredulous look. "By 3 o'clock?"

"There could be something in the bestiary."

"Oh, you mean the 900 page book written in archaic Latin that none of us can read? Good luck with that," he scoffed.

"Actually, I think I know someone who may be able to translate it." The realization brought a faint smile to Allison's face.

"That shouldn't be our only plan; for all we know that book might only convince him further," Julian pointed out.

"I can talk to Derek," Scott offered. "Maybe convince him to give us a chance to prove it's not her," he said.

"I'll come with you," Julian said. "He's my brother, and when things inevitably go wrong, you could use some backup. Derek isn't quite stupid enough to go alone."

"Derek's an Alpha," Scott said in a warning tone. "And the others…"

"I've trained in Muay Thai since I was thirteen," Julian responded, raising an eyebrow. "And I've been a werewolf longer than you or the betas. I can take care of myself."

Scott nodded then paused for a moment. His jaw set and his look became determined as he fixed Stiles and Allison with a piercing gaze. "If anything happens you guys let me handle it, okay?"

Stiles nodded gratefully while Allison looked affronted. "What does that mean?"

"You can't heal like I do…" Upon seeing the annoyed look on his girlfriend's face, Scott trailed off with a sheepish expression. "I just don't want you getting hurt," he amended.

Allison rolled her eyes and reached into her duffel bag, whipping out a mini-crossbow and holding it aloft with a set expression. Stomach twisting, Julian couldn't help but feel sick as he remembered that as nice as Allison seemed, she was still a hunter. Still an Argent.

And yet, she was helping them with Lydia. A girl who, despite what Stiles thought, was likely a lizard-monster.

"I can protect myself," Allison stated, her hardened expression softening as looked at Scott. "What? Did something else happen?"

"I just don't want you getting hurt," Scott answered earnestly. "Seriously, if anything goes wrong you call me, okay? I don't care if your dad finds out. Call, text, scream, whatever. I'll hear you and I'll find you as fast as I can." His impassioned words clearly struck a chord with his girlfriend.

"If I need help, I'll ask for it," she conceded. "But I can take care of myself." The two gazed deeply into each other's eyes, caught up in their own world.

Uncomfortable, Julian studied his nails and began to pick at the dried paint that he hadn't been able to wash off.

Stiles on the other hand decided to grab Allison's lethal looking crossbow and wave it around. Julian diverted his gaze from the navy blue paint flecks long enough to see Stiles point the weapon at his own face before turning it around.

"You have until 3," Scott declared, startling Stiles, who reflexively squeezed the trigger and sent the bolt flying directly at his friend's head. Luckily Scott's quick reflexes allowed him to catch the bolt in midair, holding it in front of his face with wide eyes.

Julian bit back a laugh at their expressions. It was good that Allison hadn't managed to smuggle a full-sized crossbow to school. No matter how fast you were, catching a bolt from one of those was impossible.

As Allison shot him a disapproving look, Stiles winced. "Sorry. Sensitive trigger."

Handing Allison the bolt, Scott opened the door, his heartrate still high.

"Lydia's in my art class," Julian told Scott as they made their way out into the hallway. "I'll keep an eye on her just in case."

"Thanks," Scott said.

"Before I do though, I have a question." Stopping in the hallway, Julian crossed his arms over his chest.

"What is it?"

"Lydia, she wouldn't be a suspect unless she was turning. Peter bit her, didn't he?"

Scott opened his mouth for a moment before he actually found the words. "Lydia was bit the night Peter… died," he admitted before hurriedly continuing. "But she didn't turn on the full moon, and her bite didn't heal like mine did. She was hospitalized; they said it was like she was having an allergic reaction or something. After she healed she ran around the woods naked for two days," Scott added reluctantly, "But she's not… I think Stiles might be right. Maybe it isn't her. She's not like us, she's something else." Upon catching sight of Julian's expression, Scott said, "What's wrong?"

"I just…" Julian paused uncomfortably, searching for the words. "It's weird looking at your family and wondering if they were ever the people you thought they were," he explained. "It was hard enough when I found out it was Peter… And now Derek…" Julian shook his head, giving Scott a tight smile. "Look, I've got to get to class, I'll meet you as soon as the bell rings. Then we can have a talk with my brother."


	5. Chapter 5

The beta waiting on the field was Boyd apparently. Even from a distance he looked large, and as Scott and Julian closed in, the latter of the two couldn't help but notice how calm and confident the last of Derek's betas was. _You're going to allow someone to murder a classmate and you're that comfortable?_

If Scott noticed, he didn't show any outward signs of it. "I want to talk to Derek!" he demanded loudly, walking directly at Boyd.

"Talk to me," Boyd called back, his tone almost amused.

"I don't wanna fight."

"Good," Boyd said with a smile as the two came to a stop in front of him. "'Cause I'm twice the size of both of you."

"True. Really, really true," Scott admitted, craning his neck to meet Boyd's smirking face. "But you want to know what I think?" Scott added with a quick grin. "I'm twice as fast."

Before Boyd had time to absorb the information, Scott threw himself into the taller boy's legs. The tackle, while clumsy, was effective, and it had Boyd on the ground, struggling to recover as Scott quickly leapt back to his feet. Keeping his weight on his back foot, Julian brought his arms up to his face and prepared to lash out at the recovering beta when Derek spoke.

"She failed the test."

Whirling around, Scott spotted the Alpha standing nonchalantly a few feet away. "Yeah, which doesn't prove anything. Lydia's different," he insisted, echoing Stiles' words.

"I know," Derek said, his tone patronizing. "At night she turns into a homicidal walking snake."

"You don't have any proof of _that,"_ Julian pointed out, his guard still up and his eyes not having wavered from Boyd. "All you have proof of is that she is immune to kanima venom."

Smiling self-righteously, Derek looked at his younger brother. "Really? You're with _him_ on this? You know the saying; a snake can't be poisoned by its own venom."

"Yeah. I also know that it hasn't been scientifically proven," Julian replied irritably. "Just like there's no actual proof that Lydia is the kanima."

Derek didn't seem phased. "That's pretty flimsy, Jules."

"What, facts?" Julian asked, his accent rapidly reverting back to the one he'd grown up with as his temper flared. "You have no actual proof that she's the kanima other than your bullshit 'test', but you've decided that you have enough evidence to kill her," he snapped viciously. "You're just scared. Too scared to admit that there's something that can hurt you even now that you're the big bad wolf," he continued, voice dripping with disdain. "And too scared too admit that you might be wrong. You're no judge Derek. And if you honestly think that a sixteen year old girl needs to die because of your fucking ego, then you're no Hale either."

Derek remained outwardly calm save for a slight facial twitch, but his anger and hurt tainted the air. A dark sense of satisfaction spread through Julian's veins. A sense of pride that just for a moment, Derek remembered that he could be hurt. That he was still Derek Hale the person, not Derek Hale the Alpha.

That there was some part of Julian's brother left in the man in front of him.

A tense silence hung in the air.

"I'm not going to let you kill her," Scott stated with determination.

Laughing, Derek shot Scott a broad smile. "Who said I was gonna do it?"

Eyes widening in realization, Scott raced forwards. Directly into Boyd's extended arm and was sent to the ground with a thud as all the air was knocked from his lungs.

Julian started toward Boyd, but Scott shook his head slightly. Still poised for a fight, Julian gritted his teeth and helped Scott to his feet, keeping Boyd and Derek in his field of vision the whole time.

"I don't know why you think you have to protect everyone now, Scott. And Jules? Are you really siding with him over me on this? Lydia has killed people and she's going to do it again," Derek said ominously. "And next time it's gonna be one of us."

"What if you're wrong?" Scott demanded.

"There's a phrase I've never heard Derek say," Julian muttered. "Or am I confusing that with 'I'm sorry'?"

Derek ground his teeth together and ignored his brother. "She was bitten by an Alpha. It's her."

"You saw that thing up close," Scott desperately tried to persuade him. "You know it's not like us."

Julian bit back a snide comment, forcing himself to try and calm down. _I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul._ As Henley's words echoed through his thoughts, his breathing slowed and he forced himself to look at the situation logically.

He was certain that this discussion was going nowhere fast, which, while annoying and frustrating beyond imagining, was actually beneficial. The more time he and Scott wasted here the more time the others would have to get Lydia out of the building. Even if they still had to deal with Isaac and Erica, at least Derek and Boyd wouldn't be bothering them for a little while more. Though Julian couldn't help but wonder if what little time he and Scott were buying them would be enough.

Attacking them wasn't a good idea anyways. If it were just Boyd or Derek, than he would've risked it. It wasn't though, and Scott wasn't prepared for a fight. Not against someone as strong as Derek, and from Boyd's shift in stance when Julian had prepared to kick him, he definitely had more training than Derek's other betas. Julian was going to have to keep his temper in check; something that got harder with every condescending word that came out of Derek's mouth.

Keeping his breathing even, Julian ran through _Invictus_ again. _Under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed._

He'd never been great at keeping his temper in check; he always ended up attacking be it with his words or his body.

Though to be fair, Derek wasn't exactly the epitome of control either. "But it is!" the Alpha finally snapped. "We're all shapeshifters. You don't know what you're dealing with. It happens rarely and it happens for a reason."

"What reason?" Scott asked.

"Sometimes the shape you take reflects the person that you are," Derek explained. "Even Stiles calls her cold-blooded," he finished pointedly.

"You're one to talk," Julian finally piped up, unable to keep his mouth shut. "And there's a difference between being cold and being cold-blooded," he added in a calmer tone. _Not that you'd realise that._

Derek gave his brother a withering look. "I thought you'd understand this."

Julian didn't respond. Just tilted his head to the side and defiantly returned Derek's stare.

Seeing that Derek was not budging, Scott changed tactics. "Well, what if she's immune?" he suggested. "What if she's got something inside of her that makes her immune to the bite? Which is why she didn't get paralyzed."

"No one's immune!" Derek shouted angrily. "I've never seen it or heard of it. It's never happened."

"And none of us had seen a kanima before either. She didn't heal from the bite," Julian pointed out. Remembering Scott's words from before, "It might have triggered something, not turned her," he suggested. "You know that's happened before. Remember that druid from Ennis' pack?"

"And what about Jackson?" Scott jumped in. Derek's eyes widened slightly and his lip curled. "That's why you tested him isn't it? Because you gave him what he wanted, didn't you?!" Raising his voice, Scott fixed Derek with an accusatory look.

"Scott-"

Aghast, Julian's hands clenched into fists as the rage warped into disgust and confusion. He'd known Derek had changed, but now it seemed like Lydia was not just some one off event… For a brief moment, Derek's gaze met Julian's. Upon seeing the expression on his younger brother's face, Derek looked away, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Peter said that the bite either kills you or it turns you," Scott continued as the realization hit him. "You were probably hoping that he would die. But nothing happened, right?" Scott almost laughed, his words thick with disgust. Behind Derek, Boyd's eyes darted to his Alpha in confusion and betrayal. "You have no idea why, do you?"

Derek's mouth was a hard line. "No."

"Well I have a theory. Lydia's immune and somehow she passed it on to Jackson. You know I'm right!" Scott said with an edge of desperation.

In response, Derek just yelled, "No!" while Julian raised an eyebrow. Although he didn't think that they had enough proof that Lydia was the kanima, Scott's reasoning seemed far-fetched even to him. Immunity was just… not heard of. Derek wasn't wrong about that.

Scott finally seemed to realize that Derek was not going to back down. "You cannot do this!"

"I can't let her live," Derek said with finality. "You should've known that," he finished with a contemptuous head shake.

"I was hoping I would convince you," Scott said sadly before smiling. "But I wasn't counting on it."

Boyd and Derek realised simultaneously that they'd badly underestimated Scott McCall and his friends.

* * *

"Why did you do that?" Scott asked, racing alongside Julian towards the school, shooting glances over his shoulder to see if they were being followed.

"Figured that we have the moral high ground," Julian answered simply, gritting his teeth together. He'd meant for the punch to be a feint, a distraction so that he could take Derek down as quickly as possible. Even though he'd made sure not to put too much force behind the punch, the impact from Derek's arm shooting up to block had definitely cracked one of the delicate bones of his hand. "So we get a head start."

"By breaking his leg?!" Scott's voice was a little bit higher than usual.

"The knee is complicated; it'll take time to heal. And we need time," Julian explained. "It'll hurt like hell, and I am fine with that." Plus, it was a rare occasion that he actually got to use his full strength on someone. There was something satisfying about just letting loose, not worrying about control, even if it was just for a few seconds. To have the visceral satisfaction of hearing and feeling Derek's joint collapse under the kick. That was something that words weren't ever going to give him.

 _Is that how Peter felt? When he tore them apart?_

Staring at Julian with a half-exasperated half-angry expression, Scott rolled his eyes as they burst into the school.

"Don't tell me that there wasn't a part of you that didn't want to punch him," Julian said dismissively, trying to shake off the terrible pit in his stomach that had formed when he thought of Peter.

"Maybe, but I didn't do it!"

Julian shrugged. "Technically I kicked him," he pointed out.

Before Scott could respond, someone stepped out into the hallway, forcing the two to come to a rapid halt. "McCall! Get over here!"

It was a teacher, the coach from the lacrosse game, Julian realized. A wide-eyed man with short, spiky brown hair and a permanently loud voice, he was currently waving a pair of lacrosse pads in the air.

"You know, there are certain responsibilities of being captain of the lacrosse team," the man began as he thrust the pads at Scott.

"Co-captain," Scott said reflexively. It must have been a correction he had to make often. As Scott turned the pads over in his hands, Julian could see the deep tears in the thick material. Tears made by claws. Like the kind one would find on a werewolf. Or a kanima.

"Alright, partial responsibilities," the coach said.

Scott looked up distractedly. "Where'd you find these?" he asked.

"Under the bleachers, and you know somebody's gonna pay for them!"

Staying a few steps behind Scott, Julian made sure to hide his rapidly ballooning hand behind his back before speaking and drawing attention to himself. "Any idea whose they are? So that the correct person pays for them," he explained.

"Danny's," Scott muttered, seeing the name on the inside of the material.

"Oh great. Mystery solved," the coach half-shouted sarcastically. "Why don't you tell your buddy Danny to take care of his equipment or I'm gonna make you take care of his equipment for him."

Julian raised an eyebrow as the coach continued on, not having noticed what he'd just said. "Now do you really want to be taking care of Danny's equipment _all_ the time?"

Scott looked to his coach. "That depends… Are we still talking about lacrosse pads?"

Julian snorted, then tried to pass it off as clearing his throat, being sure to keep his face straight.

Leaving the confused man muttering to himself as he tried to figure out what was so funny, Julian bit back a smile as he caught sight of Scott's badly concealed grin.

"After going by the locker room our scent is probably gone," Julian remarked in attempt to focus back on the task at hand. "Should we meet the others or…"

"I want to check with Danny," Scott said. "And see if Isaac and Erica are still around."

"Do you have any idea where they are? What if he went home?"

"The school isn't that big," Scott replied optimistically. "And Derek and Boyd are still around," Scott said, shooting him a disapproving look. "I don't want to lead them to Stiles and Allison."

"Fine," Julian said with a sigh. "Where do you want to start?"

* * *

There was no trace of Isaac or Erica in the school, they must have left to find the others, but they did find Danny. From the blurry recollection Julian had of him, Danny had been tall and very popular; he was just genuinely nice and had gotten along with pretty much everyone.

Julian had been correct about him being tall. Even seated, Julian knew that Danny was probably a good half a foot taller than him, with tanned skin, short dark hair, and round eyes.

Danny was working on something, shooting the occasional glance at his laptop to check the screen, when Scott dumped the pads on the desk.

Danny's eyes went wide and he grabbed the torn plastic and fabric. "Dude! What did you do to my pads?" he asked.

"Me? You're the one who was wearing them," Scott pointed out with a defensive note to his voice.

Danny gave him a confused look. "No, I wasn't," he said slowly.

"What?"

"I was in goal, remember?" Danny continued patiently. "Different pads."

"The coach found those underneath the bleachers," Julian told him, shoving his hand in his pocket to hide the swollen purple flesh.

"Do you know who was wearing them?" Scott asked.

Danny shook his head, studying the deep tears with an annoyed expression. "Someone who owes me a new set of pads," he responded.

Scott's phone rang and he took a step back to answer.

"Do you have any idea who took them?" Julian asked Danny. "Or anyone who could get into your locker?"

"My lock is broken," Danny answered, looking up from the destroyed pads. "And I've let people borrow them before; I'm always in goal so if someone needs pads I let them borrow mine." He paused, studying Julian for a moment. "You're new here, right? I don't recognize you, and your accent…"

"I grew up here. Moved back a few weeks ago. I'm Julian."

"Hale, I remember," Danny said with a bright smile. "First grade, Mr. Peterson."

"Julian," Scott called over urgently. "We've gotta go."

Giving a half-wave to Danny, Julian fell into step with Scott.

"Something wrong with the others?" he asked.

"Yeah, Stiles just called. We need to get to my house now," Scott responded, breaking into a run. "Isaac and Erica are already there, and so are Boyd and Derek."

"Lead the way," Julian said as the two raced through the hallways and out onto the street.

After they whipped through an intersection, they turned towards an area Julian vaguely remembered. A collection of side streets around the elementary school; Paige had lived in the area, and Derek used to join up with her when he walked Julian and Cora to school.

Peter used to tease Derek, laughing as the fifteen year old woke his siblings up early so they'd have time for the detour. _'Young love. Isn't it sweet?'_

At the thought of his family, Julian's mind went to his conversation with his brother. _Lydia wasn't the only person to receive the bite._

"Scott, is Jackson on the lacrosse team?"

"He's best friends with Danny," Scott responded through clenched teeth, picking up speed until he was on all fours. "And he's with the others right now."

Staying on two legs for the sake of dignity, Julian followed him around a sharp turn that led them onto a narrow path that ran behind a line of houses. It was meant to be a buffer of some kind between the houses and a grassy public trail.

"Come on," Scott called quietly as he jumped over the fence and into the yard beyond with practiced ease. Julian followed behind. He wasn't as tall as Scott, forcing him to actually climb the fence and drop over to land in a soft crouch next to him.

Making their quickly through the back door, they entered the house just in time to hear a loud thud from the front of the house. Abandoning any pretense of stealth, Scott raced forwards in time to see Stiles hit the ground, Isaac standing over him with a golden-eyed grin.

"I've got this," Julian informed him calmly. "Go get Allison."

Scott hesitated for a moment before bolting up the stairs.

Isaac turned to Julian with a lopsided grin, Stiles on the floor behind him groaning in pain. "You think you can take me?" he asked, his face transforming as he roared.

Julian didn't bother answering. He seized the advantage and rapidly closed the distance between them. He lashed out with a roundhouse kick aimed at Isaac's unprotected ribs.

Realizing that he'd underestimated the danger, Isaac brought his arms up to guard his side, wincing as the blow connected with his arm, sending him stumbling sideways.

As soon as his foot hit the ground, Julian brought up his other leg, this time slamming his knee into Isaac's exposed side.

Stumbling back a few steps, Isaac let out a growl before he lunged forwards with his claws out, slashing at Julian's chest. In doing so, he overextended the lunge.

Not missing the opportunity, Julian grabbed the arm aiming at his chest and hooked his leg behind Isaac's, sending the off-balance werewolf slamming backwards into the ground. It was a leg trip that he'd done a million times, an easy-enough take down.

Julian was saved from having to figure out a way to further incapacitate him by Allison. The hunter came down the stairs pointing a crossbow at the curly-haired werewolf's face.

"Being unconscious is really bad for the brain, but so is getting shot in the head," Julian said, placing a warning foot on Isaac's injured side. "Do you want me to…" He mimed a punch.

"Yes," Stiles said, waving his arms emphatically as he jerked to his feet, shooting the fallen beta angry looks.

Allison smiled and held up a small vial of clear liquid in her free hand. "I've got a better idea."

"I don't know, maybe we should hit him. Just to be sure," Stiles said, staying several steps away from the werewolf.

As Allison smeared kanima venom on Isaac's hand, Scott came downstairs with Erica thrown over his shoulder. The angry glares and hisses she tossed to the group were more funny than threatening given that she was upside down, the blood rushing to her face and her hair brushing against the wooden floor.

"Is Lydia alright?" Stiles demanded worriedly.

"Yeah, she's fine. So is Jackson," Scott said, his eyes golden, as he tried to open the front door without dropping Erica. "I called the police; told them that there were some people in leather jackets threatening to rob us. They're on their way."

Allison grabbed Isaac's feet and Julian grabbed his arms, the two hoisting him up and moving towards the door, accidentally bumping the paralyzed beta into the table on the way over.

Throwing Erica out the door, Scott then grabbed Isaac and dumped him next to her, the two landing in an undignified pile at Derek's feet.

"Nice air," Julian commented dryly, smirking slightly at the stunned and angry look on Derek's face.

Scott stepped forwards, staring Derek down with Allison, Stiles, and Julian behind him.

"I think I'm finally getting why you keep refusing me, Scott," Derek said conversationally. His tone was genuinely amused, and for a moment Julian was reminded of the fifteen year old Derek that had encouraged him to go down the tube slide. Julian had been terrified of that stupid green plastic slide; he'd never been a fan of tight spaces and had been irrationally scared of getting stuck. Derek had finally agreed to go down first, and Julian had broken his nose when he slid down before Derek had time to get out of the way.

"You're not an omega," Derek continued. "You're already an Alpha, of your own pack," he said, scanning the three teens behind Scott. Then his expression warped back into the smug one that Julian had come to know and hate. "But you know you can't beat me."

Scott didn't budge. Behind him, Allison's grip on her crossbow tightened, Julian started bouncing on the balls of his feet, and Stiles' hands tightened into fists.

"I can hold you off until the cops get here," Scott replied.

As if on cue, the sound of sirens came, growing ever closer. Stiles let out a breath of relief and Julian actually smiled slightly.

Derek's face went from smug to furious to surprised back to furious in the span of seconds. Boyd was more restrained, but his eyes went wide with horror just as a hiss came from up above the other group, prompting Scott, Allison, Stiles, and Julian to race forwards in time to catch a glimpse of the kanima leaping from the roof into the darkening night.

The predatory stance Derek adopted was accompanied by a disdainful 'I told you so' look. "Get them out of here," he ordered Boyd. "You happy now?" he called at the others. "She's off to kill someone, and it's all your-"

Derek was interrupted by a voice crying out from the doorway.

Lydia stood before them, her eyes ringed pink, makeup smeared and hair wild. "Would somebody please tell me what the hell is going on?" she shouted.

Boyd stared at her in shock, as did Allison. A triumphant grin spread across Stiles' face while Julian stood in place, eyes flicking from Lydia to the direction the kanima had raced off in.

Scott stared at the creature and then at the window it had climbed out of before breathing out, "It's Jackson."


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Hey everyone, I really appreciate your support. To the people who wrote reviews, thank you so much for your feedback. It means a lot. Julian is a lot of fun to write, and it's awesome that you guys like him and the way he's fitting into the story.**

 **Thanks again.**

* * *

"You getting anything?" Stiles called over without taking his eyes off the road.

"Sort of." Julian's grip on the car tightened even more as Stiles swerved unexpectedly and he bit back several choice words. "Can you at least _try_ and keep the car steady?" he shouted back, fighting to be heard with the wind whipping the words away. "I would rather _not_ end up flying out the window!"

Stiles glanced briefly over to him and shrugged, unconcerned and unapologetic. "Maybe you could keep your head in the car."

"Maybe you could _stop_ the car," Julian shot back, his fear coming out as anger. With one hand clamped tightly on the roof of the Jeep and the other on the door, every small bump in the road felt like a mountain. Even the slightest turn threatened to send him flying out of the window if he wasn't careful.

"In case you haven't noticed, there's a giant lizard on the loose!"

"And in case you haven't noticed, I'm the one without my seatbelt on and my head out the fucking window!" Julian shouted back. His nails were beginning to elongate with the stress and nerves, leaving thick puncture wounds and scores in the roof of the Jeep. "Take a right," he shouted, pre-emptively bracing himself for the sharp turn.

Stiles took the corner like someone in an action movie, and Julian felt the world swing around him as his mind screamed at him to get back into the car.

He'd never been more relieved to see a dead end in his life. Scott's scent continued into the parking lot ahead; it was fresh here, meaning that Stiles wasn't going to be able to perform vehicular homicide anytime soon.

Sliding back into the Jeep, Julian rapidly wrenched the seatbelt into place and shot Stiles a venomous look that the other teen completely missed. "He went over there. It's fresh, he's still in the area," Julian told him, pointing over to a series of warehouses, then taking calming breaths and reciting _Invictus_ to himself.

"Of course he is," Stiles muttered, unconcerned with Julian's near-death experience, turning into the parking lot. "It looks like a great place to get murdered. And by humans as well as supernatural monsters! Isn't that just great. A lovely change if I do say so myself."

Hopping out of the car, Julian finally understood the reasoning behind wanting to kiss the ground. "You are a terrible driver," he informed Stiles as he found his footing, leaning heavily on the door of the car.

"I'm an excellent driver," Stiles claimed indignantly. "I'll have you know that I've never gotten a ticket in my life."

"Isn't your dad a cop?"

Stiles paused. "He's the Sheriff," he admitted.

"That's what I thought," Julian said in a withering tone before taking a deep breath through his nose to look for Scott.

He'd been expecting exhaust. Instead he got cigarette smoke, vomit, sweat and an overpowering amount of aftershave and bodyspray. Eyes watering, he could feel his nose starting to run. "I lost the scent," he said, holding back a sneeze.

"Don't worry," Stiles said, clasping a hand on Julian's shoulder. "I've got this," he said proudly.

Julian stared at the hand on his shoulder and glared at Stiles, who quickly shoved his hand back into his pocket. "He's over there, sour- No, bitterwolf," Stiles muttered under his breath, walking quickly over to where Scott stood, peeking around the corner of a building.

The music, if it could even be considered 'music', was audible even from outside of the building. Julian scowled. He hated clubs; he'd gotten dragged along for someone's birthday and had found them to be a combination of terrible music played at a volume meant to shatter eardrums, way too much perfume and aftershave, sweat, and various types of alcohol that only added to the people shouting inside. The bass lines were torture on his oversensitive ears, and he was willing to bet that the inside of the building would be lit by flashing lights and lasers. It was hard enough not to get blinded without worrying about his eyes reflecting the light.

"Please tell me that we don't have to go in there," Julian grumbled irritably.

Whirling around in shock, Scott turned to find Stiles about two inches away from his face.

"Sorry, sorry," Stiles said, hurriedly taking a step back as Scott took a deep breath and shot them exasperated looks. "You see where he went?"

"I lost him," Scott admitted.

"What? You couldn't catch his scent?" Stiles asked in surprise.

"I don't think it has one," Scott informed him, looking to Julian who nodded in agreement.

"I had to follow Scott; I couldn't smell anything from the kanima. Plus, it's impossible to pick up anything in this mess," Julian said. "Though knowing my luck, it's probably gone into the club."

"Maybe it wants to dance," Stiles suggested, shimmying up and down. "Let loose a little bit."

"Or it wants to kill someone!" Scott reminded him.

"Ah. That explains the claws and the fangs and all that. Good. Makes perfect sense now," Stiles said. Upon noticing Scott's disapproving look, Stiles shrugged. "What? Scott, come on, I'm 147 pounds of pale skin and fragile bone!" he said, gesturing at his body frantically. "Sarcasm is my only defense!"

"Just help me find it!" Worry cracked through Scott's voice.

"Not it, _Jackson,_ " Stiles responded, turning serious at the drop of a hat.

"I know, I know."

"Alright, but does he know that?" Stiles asked.

"Probably not," Julian responded thoughtfully. "He's lost control to the shift; there's a remnant of his personality in there but the kanima is in control now. Remember at the pool? He doesn't even recognise himself."

"Yeah, but then how did he pass Derek's test?"

"I don't know!" Scott exclaimed in frustration as he searched for the kanima, while Julian shrugged, his brow furrowing.

"Maybe it's like an either or thing," Stiles suggested, answering his own question. "Derek said a snake can't be poisoned by its own venom, right? When's the kanima not the kanima?"

"When it's Jackson," Scott realised.

"Two headed snakes try to eat each other," Julian said, prompting the two to look at him with confusion. "Their brains are independent of one another," he elaborated. "They're two different minds and personalities but with one body. In this case, the venom is only in one of them but it affects both."

Nodding thoughtfully, Stiles took a few steps back to get a better view of the surrounding buildings. "So Jackson is a snake all the time. What a shocker," he said with a smirk that vanished rapidly as he looked up. Eyes going wide, Stiles' mouth started flapping open and shut as he grabbed inarticulately at the air in front of him. "Uh guys," he said in high-pitched, strangled voice.

Hurrying back next to Stiles, the werewolves followed his shaking arm in time to spot a long, reptilian tail vanishing through a small window.

"I don't suppose we can just let him stay in the club," Julian said dejectedly. "Due to the likelihood that he's there to kill someone."

"I know who he's after," Scott whispered, seeming not to have heard Julian's remark seeing as he hadn't gotten mad at him for the apathetic comment.

"What? How? How?" Stiles demanded, firing out the questions rapidly. "Did you smell something?"

"Armani."

"What does that mean?" Julian asked, staring at Scott in confusion.

"Danny," Scott explained. "He's here to kill Danny."

* * *

"Come on!" Yanking on the handle did nothing; the door was locked, and Stiles wasn't exactly the strongest person in the world. Whipping his head around, Stiles desperately searched for another entrance to the club, completely oblivious to Scott reaching for the doorknob. "Okay, maybe there's like a window we could climb through," he suggested as Scott grabbed the doorknob and pulled, wrenching the metal free with a loud clank. "Or some kind of…" he trailed off briefly as Scott passed him the badly bent doorknob and went inside. "Handle that we could rip off with supernatural strength. How did I not think of that?"

The three of them slipped through the back; the door was an unused back exit that lead down a narrow concrete hallway and out to the dance floor.

Julian had been correct about the club; the music, if it could even be called that, was terrible and loud, and the lighting seemed to have been designed specifically to kill any patrons with epilepsy. After being exposed to the so-called music for all of thirty seconds, Julian could feel a dull, insistent ache in his ears.

Scott didn't seem bothered by the noise, he was too busy staring at the dancers with a faintly perplexed expression. "Dude! Everyone in here is a dude!" he said, pausing to scan the dance floor for a little longer. "I think we're in a gay club."

"Man, nothing gets past those keen werewolf senses, huh, Scott?" Stiles' voice was dripping with sarcasm as he disentangled himself from a group of drag queens.

Julian crossed his arms, scowling. "I hate clubs," he muttered. "Can we just find the thing and get out of here before I start bleeding out of my ears?"

"It's not that bad," Stiles said, bobbing his head with the music.

Rolling his eyes, Julian's scowl deepened. "It is for anyone sober who knows what music is supposed to sound like."

"Speaking of alcohol," Stiles said with a massive smile on his face as he headed for the bar. "Three beers!" he ordered with misplaced confidence.

"Water," Julian corrected. "Just flat water."

"Way to take the whole _Carpe Diem_ thing to heart."

"I don't like bubbles in my drinks." In addition to that, drinking alcohol wasn't a good idea. Not only was it bound to be a terrible idea with his medication (he'd end up vomiting all night. There wasn't much point in getting a hangover if he wasn't going to at least get drunk first), but he also didn't have the money or identification on him to go about purchasing whatever overpriced shit the club peddled.

"IDs," the bartender demanded, staring at Stiles. If he honestly thought that he could pass for twenty one, he was insane. Especially acting like he was.

Rummaging through their pockets, Scott and Stiles fumbled for their driver's licences and slapped them onto the counter with misplaced confidence. Glancing at the photos, an amused grin spread across the bartender's face. "How 'bout two cokes," he suggested good-naturedly.

Apparently Stiles didn't understand that he wasn't going to get served anything alcoholic. "Rum and Coke, sure!" he exclaimed loudly, still bobbing enthusiastically along to the beat. Finally realising that he was not, in fact, getting rum in his Coke, Stiles stopped bobbing along and tried to play it off. "Coke is good. I'm driving anyway."

After the bartender walked off, Julian looked over to Scott. "Have you never tried alcohol?" he asked him. Surely if Scott had, he'd have realised that he'd get about as drunk off of water or Coke; and at least those tasted good.

"I guess I kinda forgot about that," Scott admitted.

He said something else, but Julian wasn't paying attention. Through the constantly in-motion crowd of bodies he could have sworn he'd seen…

Julian hesitantly inhaled, trying not to overwhelm his nose. The assault of chemicals hit him like a truck. Sniffling, he scanned the dance floor and caught sight of a familiar leather jacket and dark hair lurking in the shadows.

Of course he showed up whenever Julian _didn't_ want to see him.

Derek may have missed every art show but one (during which he complained the entire time and nearly shifted in front of Julian's pottery teacher), four birthdays, middle school graduation, and the days after Laura's death as well as her funeral and will, plus most of the days in between, but he showed up _now._

Tapping Scott on the shoulder without looking, Julian kept his gaze fixed on his brother. "Derek's here," he said, forced to practically shout in order to be heard above the music.

"Wait, what? Where?" Stiles demanded loudly, his attention momentarily diverted from the bar.

"Derek is here," Julian repeated. "I'm going to try and hold him up, but it would be good if you could take care of the problem before Derek does."

Slipping through the crowd, Julian made a beeline for Derek. After the music, smells, and getting elbowed in the face by people 'dancing' (or 'flailing their arms around while bouncing') twice, he was hardly in the best of moods when he grabbed Derek's arm.

"I thought you and Laura were staying out of this," Derek said, as annoyed to see his brother as Julian was to see him. "This doesn't seem like staying out of it, Jules."

"I tried to stay out of it," Julian retorted defensively.

"You've been here what, a week?"

"And I've only been stabbed a whopping total of once," Julian snapped. Beneath the noise of the club and its patrons, Stiles could be heard calling for Danny. "And that, may I remind you, was mostly your fault."

"Mostly?" Derek asked. For a brief moment, his lips twitched upwards.

"Almost completely," Julian said with an indignant note.

"I'm sure. Because you have _never_ made a situation worse by running your mouth."

"Not one I couldn't handle," Julian muttered, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Of course not," Derek said, grinning slightly as he stared down at his brother. "How's your hand?"

Julian flipped his brother off; his fingers thick and purple, dried blood crusting the knuckles. His middle finger barely got to sixty degrees before he was unable to move it. Biting his lip, pain shot through his hand, renewed both by the movement and from Derek bringing it back to the front of his mind. He was fairly certain that he'd broken the fourth metacarpal bone. At the very least he'd cracked it; his ring finger was several times thicker than normal and his hand was just as swollen. "How's your knee?"

"Better than your hand," Derek responded. There was a touch of worry in his tone as he took in his handiwork. "That should've healed by now."

"Not all of us are Alphas, Derek." Julian shoved his hand behind his back. The two stood in an uncomfortable, silent tableau as the club whirled around them.

"Who is it, Jules?" Derek asked after near a minute of a silent stare down. "You can't pull the 'we can't be sure' argument this time."

"I can remind you that you're the one who said it doesn't know who it is."

"That doesn't mean it's not killing people!"

"I know," Julian said softly. "But…" He took a breath in an attempt to gather his thoughts but found himself hit by Derek's growing anger. It was dense; cloyingly thick like the smoke that suffocated him in his dreams.

"It's going to kill someone. That's not a maybe. It's a definite. I just saw Chris Argent pour two magazines of wolfsbane into that thing, we need a way to defeat it. If we can't take care of it, what chance do its victims have?"

"I…" Julian faltered. Derek wasn't wrong. The kanima was going to kill someone else. Leave them lying helpless before it ripped them apart. They knew who it was now. They knew it was killing people. That was what it was here to do. Jackson was going after Danny. He was going to kill Danny. Another innocent person who didn't stand a chance against the monster.

And Danny, unlike Stiles, had not spent the previous twenty minutes trying to kill him.

The truth of the matter was that Julian had no idea what to do now. He had been so focused on proving who was the kanima, and proving that Derek was wrong, he'd forgotten that something had to happen afterwards.

A wave of nausea hit him at the thought, and his palms began to sweat.

Being responsible for himself, he could manage. Usually. Being responsible for the lives of others… That was something else entirely. This wasn't something he could kick or curse at. And avoiding it had gone terribly.

Noticing his brother's hesitation, Derek pressed his point. "It's out of control and it's killing people. We can't just stand by pretending that this is all some misunderstanding-" Derek's rant was cut off by the smoke machine kicking in and dumping thick white fog onto the club floor, a jet of the white smoke streaming down on top of the two of them.

Backing into the wall got Julian out of the worst of the spray but his vision was still obscured as the heavy fog poured out of the ceiling. He'd only taken his eyes off Derek for a moment but his brother was already gone. Had he seen something?

"Shit," Julian muttered, seizing on the fog desperately to keep his mind on the present. _Find kanima. Find Danny. Keep Derek from shifting in club._

That was manageable.

That was a plan that he could work with.

Or not. Even after scanning the crowd, he couldn't spot anything in the smoke and didn't want to risk shifting in a crowded area. A risk that Derek was likely to take.

 _Why did they have to turn on the damn fog?_ he thought irritably before realisation hit him. They wouldn't have turned on the fog. Not at this volume; it was a health and safety risk. It made it nearly impossible to see anything; like a murderous giant lizard.

A split second later, the screaming started.

Pushing forwards, Julian wove his wave in and out of the scrambling patrons. Most of the group was panicking with no clue what they were actually running from. A mindless mob that just wanted _out._ Now he had to physically push people out of the way. While Julian was not exactly short, he wasn't all that tall, and he was physically smaller than the panicking mass coming against him. It was like canoeing upstream; except if he whacked a _person_ to get them to move, he was liable to cause more problems.

He got through the worst of it fairly quickly; pushing free of the mob and sucking in a gasp of relatively fresh air. A small group had formed under the disco ball; some dialling their phones, others crouched down to check pulses. After making sure that he could in fact hear heartbeats, Julian spotted Stiles standing up slowly next to someone the floor.

"Is everyone-"

"Alive?" Stiles nodded in relief, his brown eyes darting around the room. "Yeah, must be a drug or something," he said loudly before hurrying over to Julian, stepping on someone's hand in the process. "They're paralysed but fine."

"Do you see Scott or Derek?"

"No," Stiles responded before grabbing Julian by the arm and dragging him out the door. "But we've got to get outta here like right now or I am going to be grounded for the rest of my life."

Allowing Stiles to drag him forcibly down the hallway they'd entered from, Julian's eyes darted around in a futile attempt to spot Derek anywhere.

The cool night air almost hurt when hit his lungs. The clear, fresh air was a relief, and Julian halted instinctively to clear out his lungs, forcing Stiles to let go of his arm so he could continue towards the Jeep.

His ears thanking him silently for leaving, Julian took another deep breath only to taste the familiar coppery taste of blood in the air.

Eyes snapping open, Julian's gaze went to the dark trail of liquid on the pavement.

"Stiles, wait," Julian said urgently.

Stiles hadn't heard the warning but came to a stop a few steps away, his whole body stock still for the first time since Julian had met him.

Hurrying over, the dark haired teen could see a pair of legs sticking out from in between two cars, a growing puddle surrounding him. Slowing his pace, Julian came to a stop next to Stiles, opening up his hearing in time to detect a heartbeat; strong and steady.

Scott looked up to the two of them with wide eyes. "What do we do with him now?"

* * *

"I take it this is Jackson?"

Stiles whipped around to look at Julian, who was studying him with a slightly tilted head. "What? Yeah. Jackass Whittmore," Stiles answered, the nickname automatic even as scared as he was. "Don't you remember him? I mean, you've seen him around, right?"

"Right now I'm seeing more of Jackson than I want to," Julian said with a raised eyebrow. "Do you have a blanket or something in your car?"

"There's one in the back," Stiles said distractedly, not moving from his spot, his gaze fixed on some point only he could see.

"Can you go get it?" Julian asked pointedly. Jerking back to reality, Stiles blinked a few times and then scurried towards the back of the Jeep. In truth, Julian was somewhat worried about him. Stiles' heart was racing and he was jumpier than normal, which was an achievement in and of itself. He couldn't really remember what the treatment for possible shock was, but figured that getting Stiles to focus on a task would help. It worked with anxiety attacks; he figured that it was worth a try.

"We've got to get him out of here before Derek or the cops see him!" Scott reminded them.

Julian shrugged, bending down to grab Jackson's ankles. Pain flared through his injured hand and he dropped the foot, biting back a curse of pain.

"I've got his feet," Scott offered, switching spots with Julian so that he could hook his arms under Jackson's armpits.

"Derek won't hang around for the cops," Julian said, giving Scott a thankful nod before heaving Jackson up into the air with Scott's help. "What are we supposed to do once we get him out of here?"

"I have no idea," Scott admitted.

At the sound of the approaching sirens, the two quickened their actions, hauling Jackson over to the back of the Jeep where Stiles stood with a black fleece blanket that smelled strongly of oil and damp.

"Get him in the back before I have to explain to my dad why Jackson is naked in the back of my car," Stiles hissed, throwing the blanket over Jackson and yanking the door open, eyes scanning rapidly for any sign of the police.

By the time they finally managed to shove Jackson into the back of the Jeep, the ambulances had arrived and were bringing out the paralysed on gurneys.

"I'm going to go check on Danny, see if he knows anything and if he's okay," Scott explained.

Joining Scott silently, Julian walked over to where Danny lay strapped to a gurney, a paramedic searching for an empty ambulance.

"Hey, Danny," Scott said.

Julian hung back and gave Danny a wave with his non-injured hand.

Danny blinked, his head turning to regard them with surprise. "What are you two doing here?"

"Listening to what I am told is 'music'," Julian responded, using air quotes around the last word. "And to see if you're okay," he added.

"Aside from the whole, being paralysed from the neck down thing," Scott said.

Grinning faintly, Danny tried to turn his neck to spot something but was unsuccessful. "Did it happen to my ex too?" he asked.

Julian had no idea who Danny's ex was. Scott nodded though, and Danny's smile widened even further. "I'm great," he responded.

"So no hallucinations?" Julian questioned with a faint grin. "Someone else said that they saw a giant iguana."

"No hallucinations," Danny said in agreement. "Unless you two aren't supposed to be floating."

Julian actually smiled at the unexpected joke, while Scott looked momentarily alarmed before he realised that Danny wasn't being serious.

"We've got to get him to the hospital," the paramedic said apologetically, wheeling Danny away.

Waiting until Danny was out of earshot, Scott hurried towards the car with Julian alongside him. "So he didn't see anything?"

"Apparently not," Julian said with a shrug. Standing aside, he motioned for Scott to get into the passenger seat. "I need to get home, and get my hand wrapped," he explained, raising the swollen joint up for inspection.

Looking faintly disgusted, Scott opened the door.

With Scott back in the Jeep, Julian stepped away from the vehicle. He wasn't giving Stiles another chance at vehicular homicide tonight.

Stiles fumbled for his keys. "Okay! Can we just get the hell out of here before my dad's deputy sees me?" Another car pulled in and Stiles' heartrate spiked again. "Oh my God, oh my God! Could this get any worse?" Stiles exclaimed.

A low moan emanated from Jackson, prompting the three teens to stare at him in horror.

"That was rhetorical!" Stiles said, frantically looking over to the man getting out of the car to fix the three of them with a disapproving look. Stiles father, Julian realised. He hadn't really changed since Julian had seen him last. His hair was shot through with more grey and the lines on his face were more prominent, but it was the same man.

"Get rid of him!" Scott urged his friend.

"Get rid of him? We're at a crime scene and he's the Sheriff!" Stiles' voice was an octave higher than normal, his arms flailing around as he spoke.

"Do something?" Scott suggested, receiving an exasperated eye roll and inarticulate gesturing from his friend before

Stiles hopped out of the car and headed for the Sheriff with a massive smile plastered across his face.

"What are you doing here?" the Sheriff demanded.

Julian turned to Scott, intending on asking how good Stiles was at improvisation, only to find the other beta chewing nervously on his thumb nail. Leaning against the car, Julian held back a wince. His suspicions were proved further as Stiles tried to appease his father.

"It's a club! It's a club, we were clubbing, you know? At the club." Stiles was bobbing up and down, and he was gesturing even more emphatically than usual.

"Should we go help him?" Julian asked Scott, watching Stiles flounder about for an excuse.

"He's got this," Scott attempted to reassure him. Something that would have gone better if he hadn't been gnawing on his nail.

"Clearly," Julian said, cocking his head to the side as Stiles continued, frantically spreading his arms out as the Sheriff started towards the car. "Are you _sure_ we shouldn't go do something?"

Behind them, Jackson let out another groan and started murmuring under his breath. "That's not good," Scott said.

Jackson started to sit up.

Startled, Julian jerked back from the door. "That's worse."

"Jackson, I'm sorry, but…" Scott slammed his fist into Jackson's jaw. Jackson dropped like a pile of stones. "We need to get out of here," Scott said, staring at Jackson anxiously. "We need to get rid of him."

"I've got an idea," Julian said, straightening up only to have Scott grab his arm.

"This plan doesn't involve punching people, does it?" he asked seriously.

Rolling his eyes, "Not anymore," Julian replied. Scott gave him a horrified look. "It was a joke, McCall," Julian explained, smiling crookedly and gently removing the hand. "Alright?"

By the time Julian got over to where the officer and his son were standing, Stiles was stammering and looking for an excuse. Seeing Julian approach, Stiles seized the opportunity.

"Well the truth is that we were here with Julian, here," Stiles said, slinging an arm over Julian's shoulder and grinning at his father. Having regained control of the situation, Stiles' confidence returned and he went from a stammering mess to lying with a smile. "He's new in town and we were just showing him around, right?" he asked, squeezing Julian's arm pointedly.

Julian nodded stiffly. "Yeah. I don't get out much," he said flatly. The Sheriff didn't seem overly convinced, so Julian adopted a wide-eyed, concerned look. "We were at the bar waiting for Stiles' Coke and then the fog came on and everyone started screaming. We were talking to Danny... The paramedics said that people got drugged..."

"Everyone is fine," the Sheriff reassured him, his eyes narrowing slightly. Julian thought perhaps he'd overdone it.

"Yeah, well, next time we'll go somewhere safer," Stiles said with a grin as phony as Julian's concern.

"I'll stick to pottery," Julian said, trying to step away from Stiles only to find that the taller teen's arm was as unmovable as a statue's, his eyes fixed on his father with apprehension.

The Sheriff studied the two of them for a moment, and Stiles heartrate skyrocketed. Then the frown on his face disappeared and he smiled in relief. Next to Julian, Stiles body relaxed and his fingernails stopped digging into his arm. "That's really good of you guys," the Sheriff said. "You're good friends."

"We're not-" Julian started before catching himself. Taking a moment to collect his thoughts, he pried Stiles' hand off of his arm and shot him a look, hoping that he'd take a hint, and turned to the Sheriff. "Your Deputy Stilinski, right?" he asked.

Stiles glanced between his father and Julian for a couple of seconds, then slowly edged away from the two of them before abandoning any pretense of stealth and scrambling towards the Jeep.

"It's Sheriff, actually. Has been for a few years now." Pausing, the Sheriff frown, studying Julian carefully, as though he were trying to remember something. "Do you have family here?" the man asked.

"Julian Hale," Julian responded, watching the Sheriff's face transform with recognition. "You helped my sister move a couch," he added lamely, a brief sense of relief flowing through him as Stiles took off in the Jeep like a bat out of hell.

The Sheriff he looked at Julian as though he was seeing him in a new light. "I remember you… I thought you were…" He trailed off, realising _why_ Julian was back in Beacon Hills.

Taking a deep breath, Julian looked the Sheriff in the eye. He had to get this out in one go. Now seemed as good a time as any. "I wanted to say thank you. For reopening my family's case, I mean. And for proving that Kate Argent and the others… That they set the fire. It's good to have some sort of closure. They're still dead…" Julian awkwardly added, his undamaged hand tapping nervously against his thigh. "But it's good to know that they didn't get away with it. So, thank you."

The Sheriff hesitated briefly before he spoke. "I'm just doing my job," he said roughly, clearly no more comfortable than Julian was.

"Laura was working as a public defender," Julian carried on, trying to keep his thoughts on track, and failing that, at least coherent. "She used to say the same thing. That she was just doing her job. But she did it with heart, and people knew that. You didn't have to care about a family that's been dead for six years, just like you didn't have to move that stupid couch."

The Sheriff stared at him, his mouth partly open, but Julian cut him off. He'd gotten this far, might as well finish it. "So thank you. From both of us."

Not giving the Sheriff a chance to respond, Julian quickly turned and headed down towards the road he and Stiles had entered the lot on. He was hyper-conscious of the tears threatening to well up, and he wanted to simply run.

Restraining himself until he was in a less populated area, as he walked out of the parking lot he spotted a van parked under a shadowy outcrop. Seated in the front was the man who had stood up to Gerard, and next to him sat the old man himself. The two were talking, not looking in his direction. At least not yet.

Mouth going dry, Julian froze completely. A deer in the headlights.

When people talked about the flight or fight response, they often forgot about the third option. Freeze.

Julian was stuck in the third option. His brain wasn't processing things properly; just screaming at him incoherently.

Coming back to reality, Julian realised he was hyperventilating.

Sucking in a gulp of air, he stared at the Argents, who seemed to still be wrapped up in their conversation.

Then he _ran,_ the wolf taking over and driving him into flight-mode.

 _It's alright, they didn't see you,_ he repeated to himself. _They didn't see you._

The words fell in time with his steps, but the more he said them, the more meaningless they became. For even as he ran down the deserted road that led to the outskirts of town, leaving the club far behind him, he couldn't shake the feeling of that pair of soulless black eyes following him all the way home.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: Hey everyone. Just wanted to say to everyone who has reviewed this story, thank you so much for your input. And I wanted to let you know that this will be Scott/OC. Eventually. Thanks again.**

* * *

"If you've finished the milk you can take the Advil." Seated at the kitchen island with a Sudoku puzzle in front of him, Deaton was still dressed in his work clothes. The smell of the tomato soup he and Julian had eaten for dinner wasn't quite strong enough to cover up the smell of the animals he worked with, but neither of the two really cared. On the list of problems in Beacon Hills, cat pee was pretty low.

Using the last dregs of milk to wash down the pill, Julian let out a sigh and stared blankly at the paper before him. He'd used his right hand and it showed. The lines were sloppier than normal and sketching the outline of the kanima's spine had taken longer. He was going to have to get used to using his right hand though; his left was bound in a splint, and if prior experience was anything to go by, the injury would take up to a week to heal completely.

At least he could use his right hand to a decent degree.

 _The perks of being ambidextrous,_ he thought to himself as he added some shadow to the kanima's arm.

"That should start working in about twenty minutes," the vet informed him, filling in another box.

"That's one less problem." The remark was meant to be a joke, but it came out bitter and more fearful than Julian had meant it to.

"I take it this is about Jackson?"

"It's about the _kanima_ ," Julian replied, stressing the last word, his silver-coated fingers drumming against the paper. "Who is also Jackson. _Shit,"_ he muttered, propping his head up with his un-splinted hand.

Raising an eyebrow, "Language," Deaton reminded his charge.

Lips briefly quirking up, Julian's smile quickly fell, and he grabbed the pencil, twirling it around tightly his fingers without noticing. "What am I supposed to do?" he asked, meeting Deaton's eyes for the first time in the conversation.

Setting his pencil down, Deaton turned to face Julian. "About Jackson, or the kanima?"

"They're the same person," Julian said before correcting himself. "Or at least the same body. And that body is killing people."

"It seems unfair to sentence someone for the actions of another," Deaton said thoughtfully. "Although as you pointed out, people are dying; and conscious or not, voluntarily or not, Jackson is responsible."

"If you're trying to help, you're doing a shitty job," Julian muttered, his words lacking any real bite.

"I'm simply stating what we are taking as fact," Deaton pointed out. "This is something that none of us have dealt with before, and when dealing with something new it is important to gather information. When one faces a new opponent, it is best to get a feel for what you are dealing with."

"Sure, but in a match you at least know what the other person is trying to do," Julian responded.

"Do you?" Deaton asked with his trademark smile. "They may plan to throw the match. They may plan to win; but how they do that is not clear from the start. If you look at previous fights, then you may know what they are likely to do. You never quite know the whole story though. Not without looking at every angle," Deaton said. "Jackson is, for the moment at least, contained. We should take what time we have and use it our advantage. Looking at things from one point of view is rarely helpful and more often leads to situations like the one your brother is currently in."

Twisting to face Deaton, "And what if that's it? Jackson is just killing people. We send him to Eichen House? Kill him?" Julian demanded angrily, his grip on the pencil tightening. "And what if he's not? We train him? He doesn't want help, and he's _killed_ people. And he's probably going to do it again..." Taking a breath in order to calm himself, Julian felt the familiar disconnect coming. "I can't deal with that. I can't have someone else's life in my hands."

"So you should leave it in someone else's?" Deaton glanced pointedly at where Julian's phone lay on the table, face down and on silent.

"They're the ones who got involved." There was no conviction behind the statement, no anger. Nothing. Just a dull statement as Julian tried to distance himself.

"That is because they had to. Peter was not one for providing alternate paths." Deaton fixed Julian with a calm gaze. "You helped them before. You helped Lydia. Was her life not dependent on your actions as well as the others?"

Julian opened his mouth to speak but couldn't quite find the words. He settled on, "I hate this."

"Feeling alone?"

"Feeling lost," Julian corrected more harshly than intended. "I have no idea what to do. People are dying, and… I left this. We both did. We left this all in California. And I miss that. I miss not having to worry about Derek and murder-lizards. I miss pottery and painting for hours instead of running around trying not to get killed. Not having to worry about other people being killed."

Deaton remained silent, his gaze never wavering from Julian's face even as the teen's eyes dropped to a spot on the tile floor. "I miss not having to care," he admitted. "We were fine. We were happy. _I_ was happy. And then that stupid fucking deer… " Julian began knotting his fingers together, his eyes welling up. "I didn't want her to go," he said softly. "But she wanted to check. She said that she couldn't just walk away this time."

"She got involved," Deaton said quietly.

"She got _killed._ That's what happens." Drawing his knees up so that he was sitting cross-legged on the chair, Julian squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Blinking the tears back, he relaxed his grip on the pencil and concentrated on shading the scales on the creature's stomach.

They sat in silence for several minutes. Deaton's unwavering gaze on Julian as the kanima came to life on his page. As the pencil moved up to the creature's face, Julian hesitated. He could see Jackson in it now. It could have been simply his subconscious affecting the way he'd drawn it, or maybe he'd just never noticed the features before, but it was Jackson. The sharp cheekbones, heavy brown. It wasn't so difficult to imagine the kanima's mouth contorting in the sneer Jackson seemed to wear every day. It wasn't so hard to see the human behind the monster anymore.

It was Deaton who eventually broke the heavy quiet. "What would Laura have done with Jackson?" he prompted gently.

Sighing, Julian took in a deep breath of tomato-flavoured air. "She'd look at the facts. Figure out what he was, whether he knew what he was doing, and then look at the solutions and suggest what was appropriate. She'd look at who he was, is and will be. And then she'd fight like hell with anyone who dared say anything different." Smiling at the reminder of his sister, Julian set the pencil down.

"Then do you have an answer?"

Laughing with a mixture of exhaustion, anxiety and pain, Julian's murky eyes met Deaton's. "I take it you wouldn't approve of me saying I kind of just want to beat the shit out of Jackson?" he joked weakly.

Deaton's mouth actually twitched upwards at the corners, and his eyebrows shot up in genuine amusement. "You inherited more from you grandmother than your name."

"The inability to stay out of things I really should? The 'temperament issues?'"

"You got her heart," Deaton corrected. "And her temperament," he added with a grin. "Though sometimes a situation requires a more... direct approach."

Actually smiling at that, Julian slowly rose and headed for the cupboard. "I'm going to make pudding, is that alright?"

"Certainly," Deaton responded, his attention focused on the sketch Julian had been working on. "Do you mind if I keep a hand on this? I'd like to ask some former colleagues some questions, and this may come in handy."

"Provided you don't say anything about the amount of pudding I'm about to eat? Go ahead."

* * *

"Mmhm. That's nice. Just like that," Stiles murmured, his body sinking deeper into the seat.

Rolling his eyes, Julian shot the sleeping teen a reproachful look before refocusing his attention back to the sketchbook balanced on his knees. Stiles had been muttering to himself ever since Julian had arrived, and it had grown louder over time. Even with his earbuds blasting away in his ears, Julian could still make out the moans emanating from Stiles' drooling mouth.

The two of them were in the front of a police transport van that Stiles had stolen. Scott had tried to explain the details but Julian had cut him off. He was willing to babysit for a few hours to let Stiles get some sleep, but he was not getting himself arrested.

 _'Plausible deniability',_ he'd told the over-tired beta.

Stiles had fallen asleep before he'd got there; lying in the front seat with his head lolling sideways. Over the past few hours, he'd sunk down deeper and deeper. Aside from the occasional remark that Julian _really_ didn't want context for, Stiles had been fairly quiet. It had actually been somewhat nice. This section of the forest was alive with fiery leaves and smelled like earth and plant life. A deer had approached the car a couple of hours earlier; cautiously wandering over before bolting after it realised what was in the car. Julian wasn't sure if it was him, Jackson, or Stiles' snoring that scared it off.

Julian had actually managed to drift off a few hours before that, but had been unable to sleep otherwise. The van wasn't comfortable; possibly because he was sitting backwards in the passenger seat with his back up against the dashboard. He supposed he could blame it on the insomnia as well. Or nerves. How Stiles was able to soundly sleep with everything going on was beyond him. Not just the crushing anxiety and responsibility, but also Jackson screaming and rattling his chains every once and a while.

As Stiles progressively got louder, Julian desperately tried to focus on _She's My Winona,_ only to find that Stiles was not getting shutting up like he had been hoping.

Figuring it was best to cut the problem off before it became any worse, Julian grabbed Stiles forcefully by the arm and yanked him sideways.

Eyes snapping open, Stiles smacked his lips a couple of times, eyes bleary, before they widened and he let out a frightened squeak. "What- Why- How-"

"You talk in your sleep," Julian explained shortly. "A _lot."_

Watching Stiles turn a vibrant shade of pink and try to stammer out something was entertaining, however, Julian eventually took pity on him and passed him a plastic container. "There's a muffin in there."

Still a vibrant shade of pink, Stiles cautiously nibbled on the top of the muffin, shooting sidelong glances at Julian the whole time. Whether he thought the muffin may taste bad or was poisoned was unclear.

For his part, Julian ignored him and kept drawing.

Soon, Stiles was stuffing his face and spilling crumbs all over the driver's side. "This is pretty good," he said through a mouthful of muffin.

"That is because I am an excellent chef," Julian stated without looking up.

"I wouldn't say excellent-" Catching the glare Julian shot his way, Stiles audibly gulped. "Great. Wonderful," he claimed, setting the container down with a grin that was way too wide to be natural and faded as soon as he looked away from Julian's face to get his phone.

Stiles was clearly still not entirely awake. His gestures were clumsy and his eyes still unfocused, drifting from item to item without really seeing anything. When he finally found his phone in his back pocket, he held it up a mere inch away from his face, studying the time for much longer than it should've taken. "It's after nine," he declared after several seconds.

"Scott said you weren't going to school."

"Nah," Stiles said, spewing several crumbs onto the dashboard. "He go home?"

"Around twelve," Julian responded without glancing up from his sketchpad. "Your father thinks that you're having a sleepover with him."

"Are you staying?" Stiles asked, squinting at the werewolf next to him.

"I'm waiting until the pharmacy is open," Julian explained. "And then I'm heading to school."

Stiles' half-asleep gaze fell to the splint on Julian's hand. "Shouldn't that have healed?" he asked. Curiosity seemed to wake him up better than the muffin or embarrassment had.

Not really wanting to answer, Julian just shrugged. "I'm not a great healer."

"But don't werewolves…" Stiles brow furrowed.

"Normally, yes. But betas aren't always balanced," Julian attempted to explain. Stiles had the sort of insatiable curiosity that would lead to constant pestering and being stared at if he didn't answer. "I can't heal all that well. Laura thought it might be because the burns never really healed," he added uncomfortably. "Well, they healed. But the scar tissue is there… That's more of a human than werewolf thing though. She thought that my body was still trying to heal the burns, so other injuries take longer. I'm pretty sure I'm just a crappy healer though. My senses and control are above average for us, but if I get cut, I actually still need a band aid."

"Burns? From the fire?" Stiles asked bluntly.

"I lost most of my family in one night," Julian stated flatly. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I'd rather not discuss it right now."

Awkwardly clearing his throat, Stiles muttered an apology but Julian wasn't really listening. Cutting Stiles off before he could say anything to piss him off any further, Julian jerked a thumb at the back of the van. "What do you think?"

"About what? What to do with him?" Stiles asked, momentarily confused by the sudden change of topic. "I still say we kill him. Asshole has it coming if you ask me. Which you did. Assuming that you were, you know, talking about what I want to do with him." Stiles heartbeat was still a little fast yet Julian could hear the truth in Stiles' words.

"I'm not going to stop you," Julian said, calling Stiles' bluff with a shrug. If Stiles wanted to kill Jackson, he could do it himself. Julian was not going to sit in the van with Stiles for another forty minutes if he was going to start talking about how their only real option was to kill Jackson. He didn't need that option in front of him. Once you started to think that way, it was all you could think about, and one option started to look like the only one. "The forest is an excellent place to bury a body. Just don't expect me to help you dig."

Gaping at Julian, Stiles let out a strained and high-pitched laugh. "That's… you're joking, right? Because I said I was sorry and…"

"And I accept your apology, though I will continue to derive entertainment from freaking the two of you out," Julian said, returning to the sketchbook with a faint smile on his face. He'd proved his point. Not that the look on Stiles' face wasn't a bonus. "Because me freaking out is significantly less fun."

"You and Derek are totally related," Stiles muttered. "You're both assholes."

Julian's smile tightened for a moment. "You're the one suggesting killing him," he pointed out rather sharply. "Sorry…Derek is kind of a touchy subject too," he added, extending an olive branch to Stiles in the form of a crooked grin.

"Well, he's still an asshole."

"I'm not going to argue with that," Julian said with a sigh. "I take it you don't have any siblings?"

Stiles shook his head. "Nope. Closest thing I've got to one is Scott."

Julian wasn't surprised. "You know how there's people who can piss you off to no end, but you're related to them and you kind of have to love them, even when you want to rip their head off?" It was hard to explain to someone who didn't have any siblings. How you could honestly hate someone yet still want them to come back and stay. How even with broken bones and vicious words, Julian knew that he could no more truly hate his brother than Derek could hate him.

"Sort of? Maybe not the 'ripping their head' thing," Stiles said. "Actually, that does happen. But it's usually Scott trying to do that," he joked.

The two sat in companionable silence for the remainder of the hour until Julian began stuffing his stuff in his bag. "Before I forget, you don't happen to know how to unlock a computer, do you? Laura scanned some of the books that survived the fire but I can't get into her laptop," Julian explained. "The house got cleared out by looters and the cops, so if there's any information, it's probably there."

"Ask Danny," Stiles told him, shifting in his seat so that his feet were on the dashboard and his arms were crossed behind his head, allowing his lanky form to stretch out.

"What?"

"He's good with computers," Stiles said. "He doesn't know about this, but he'll definitely help." A sly smile slid up Stiles' face. "And I think the family resemblance might come in handy."

Julian momentarily considered asking Stiles what he was talking about. Then, after spotting the ever-growing smile, Julian shut the door of the van and walked off into the woods, deciding that he really didn't want to know.

* * *

Shoving the late slip into his pocket, Julian hastily opened his locker and grabbed his textbooks and art supplies. After dumping his mostly empty bag in the locker, he quickly snapped the lock closed.

"Mr. Hale, out of class, are we?"

Julian almost dropped his books in shock. Sucking in a desperate breath of air in a bid to by some minuscule amount of time, he turned reluctantly to find himself face to face with the broadly smiling principal.

 _I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul._ On the bright side, at least if he did shift, he wouldn't be doing it in front of a human.

"You know, skipping isn't a good way to start off at a new school," Gerard continued in an almost patronising tone.

It was terrible to see Gerard like this. A ruthless murderer in the woods? Sure. Julian could deal with that. At least on the outside. But dressed in a blue sweater vest and tweed coat, and wearing a smile that actually reached his eyes instead of a cold sneer? That was unnerving beyond compare.

"I-" Julian began. It was as though his brain had just shut off. He couldn't find the words. It took a few seconds, but his shaking fingers managed to pull out the late slip from his pocket. "Got a slip," he managed. He hated this feeling of helplessness. That Gerard could catch him off guard and actually scare whenever he so chose. That he was still vulnerable even when the two of them were alone. He could blame freezing up the first time on the additional guards. Now, he couldn't help but face the truth: Gerard scared him shitless regardless of the backup he had.

Gerard shook his head, still playing the kindly old principal. "Oh, I'm sure you had an excellent excuse," he said with a laugh that was somehow worse than the music at the club. "Though, I'm going to have to ask you why you were late. The secretary was a little overwhelmed, and couldn't quite recall a reason. I like to check in on my students, make sure that they're doing well."

"That what the cameras are for?" Julian blurted out, feeling his brain start to kick in. The rising anger wasn't enough to overpower the fear like it had been at their last meeting, but his sense of pride was forcing his voice to stay even and his posture to remain straight.

Gerard smiled. "I just want to make sure that our students are safe. After that nasty incident a little while ago, people are looking for safety. And that's my job."

"I have a slip," Julian repeated. His nose was beginning to run as he inhaled the wolfsbane that Gerard had evidently doused himself in.

"I don't suppose you happened to see Jackson Whittmore on your way to school? He's a little late as well," Gerard said. There was something lurking in the cold abyss of his eyes.

 _Does he know?_ Not bothering to fake a smile, Julian stuck with the truth. "I was at the pharmacy. I had to pick up a prescription," he said, meeting Gerard's gaze evenly. _He can't do anything here._ "And last I saw Jackson, he was ten."

"Hmm," Gerard studied him for a moment. _He knows you're lying._

 _He can't do anything here._

"Well I suppose I can't be angry about that," Gerard said with that horrible smile, clapping Julian on the shoulder.

Julian flinched at the physical contact.

"Have a nice afternoon, Mr. Hale," Gerard said, removing his hand slowly and wandering down the hall as though he didn't have a care in the world.

* * *

"Are you alright?" Scott said, fixing Julian with a concerned gaze. "I mean, your heart rate is really high, and you're kind of…"

"Radiating anxiety and frustration?" Julian finished for him. "Well that's probably because Gerard is just waiting to spill my guts all over the floor, my brother is being… Derek, and there's our little problem with _You Know Who_ in the damn van…"

"Hey, we're going to be fine," Scott reassured him, his eyes warm and comforting.

Turning away from Scott to glare darkly at the ground, "You're not the one he stabbed in the gut," Julian muttered. He regretted it the moment the words left his mouth and Scott visibly flinched, something unreadable scenting the air. Beneath the concern radiating off of Scott, Julian couldn't pinpoint it though.

"Sorry," Julian said with a wince. "I know this is hard for you too. You're handling this better than anyone else, actually. It's actually really surprising how well you're taking this."

"I have no idea what I'm doing," Scott admitted as he unshackled his bike from the bike rack.

"You know, when you say things like that, you kind of make the rest of us look bad," Julian informed him with a lopsided smile, feeling his nerves begin to ebb.

Flushing at the unexpected compliment, Scott smiled in surprise, standing still for a good several seconds before he quickly swung a leg over onto the bike. "I'm going to the hospital to talk to Danny," Scott explained. "Allison went to meet Stiles… Gerard started grilling her and they're going to move."

"I'll come to the hospital," Julian said. "Laura had some family books on her laptop and Stiles said Danny might be able to unlock it. Besides," he added with a tired smile. "A run will probably do some good."

* * *

"How are you feeling?" Scott asked as Danny searched for a shirt.

"Fine," Danny said with a grin. "Whatever it was, it was temporary, and I get an extension for my biology paper."

The hospital room smelled heavily of antiseptic and what Julian assumed was Armani aftershave. It was sunnier and brighter than he normally associated with a hospital, though that may have been because most of his memories of Beacon Memorial were of Laura sitting by Peter's bedside watching the heart monitor as he lay there, covered in burns beyond his capacity to heal. Derek used to eat pudding with Julian in the hallway as the youngest remaining Hale drew the staff passing through the halls. They'd stayed for a week before Laura ran. There were still hunters in town, and Peter was showing no signs of recovery. Sitting and waiting was far from a Hale trait. Especially not when there was still danger. _Maybe Derek hasn't changed so much after all,_ Julian thought absent-mindedly.

"Are you sure everything's fine with you and Jackson?" Scott asked.

Riffling through his wallet, Danny nodded. Apparently he was too distracted to note the odd question. "Yeah, everything's fine," he said before snapping his wallet closed with a sigh. "Do the cops _have_ to take my fake ID?" he asked.

"They are _cops,_ " Julian pointed out.

Scott shot him a look. _Focus._ Julian grinned and raised an eyebrow; prompting Scott to roll his eyes, then turn his gaze back to Danny. "You didn't do anything to make him angry?"

"How angry?" Danny barked a laugh.

"On a scale of one to ten? One being kind of irritated and ten being wanting to _kill_ you. Violently," Scott suggested.

For someone being asked _that_ question, Danny was weirdly calm. Just shrugged on his shirt and kept grinning. "Jackson's kind of always at a four," he remarked. "But we're good. I was actually doing him a favour," he said, standing up to look for something in his bag.

Eyebrows shooting up, "What favour?" Scott questioned.

"I was recovering a video from him," Danny said, digging through his bag. "I put it on a tablet. Which is in the trunk of my car and probably still at the club." Danny's smile slipped into a frustrated groan.

"What was on the video?"

It figured that would be the question that Danny finally hesitated on. "I'm not really supposed to say."

"Danny," Scott said seriously. "What if I told you this could be a matter of life and death?"

"I'm not supposed to say," Danny repeated, giving the two of them an almost apologetic look.

Sensing Danny wavering, Scott paused briefly before coming up with the right incentive. "What if I told you I could get your fake ID back?"

"It was just him sleeping," Danny said. Apparently friendship came second to alcohol for Jackson and Danny. "Matt found a couple extra hours of footage, like it had been doctored. So I recovered for him. I didn't look though."

"Thanks, Danny," Scott said, turning to leave.

"Before we go, Stiles said you're good with computers," Julian piped up, showing Danny the slim Apple computer in his hand. "I was wondering if you could do me a favour. This was my sister's," he explained. "She had a bunch of family photos and historical records scanned on this, but I don't know her password… And I'd rather go with the computer guy than hold a séance."

"No problem," Danny said, grabbing the laptop and sliding it into his bag. "Shouldn't take too long. I can probably get it back to you in a day or so."

"Thanks a lot."

Watching the two of them race down the hallway with amused confusion, Danny slung his bag over his shoulder and walked off.

* * *

"We need to get to the club," Scott said as he and Julian rushed through the hall, dodging staff and patients along the way. He came to a skidding halt as a short woman with dark, curly hair and flowery nurse's scrubs stepped out in front of the two of them.

"While I think you being here to check in on your friend is all sorts of commendable," she said, visibly gathering her words. "I've got to play tough mom right now. Even though I'm not very good at it," she continued, looking up at her son with a serious expression.

"Right now?" Scott asked.

Julian took a couple of steps backwards and away from the two of them.

"Yes, right now!" Scott's mother exclaimed loudly enough to garner several stares from the hospital staff and visitors. "I got a call from your principal, you're failing to classes?"

Julian wondered if Gerard was required to make the call or if he had done it to mess with Scott. No doubt he likely took pleasure in it either way.

"Yes, I know. That's why I'm studying with Stiles and Julian right now," Scott explained, trying to placate his mother.

It didn't work. "You know that if you fail even one of your midterms that they're gonna hold you back."

Scott's urgency was forgotten and his shoulders slumped. "He said that?" His voice was quiet, and Julian realised at that moment that while Scott was dealing with all of what had been going on with surprising resilience and almost impossible kindness, he was also human. And he had his own troubles that he was putting aside for a supernatural mess that Peter had dragged him into. Instead of running or backing down, Scott was still involved and putting others before him.

Julian's stomach twisted as he thought to how badly he didn't want to get involved. How there was still part of him that just wanted to run again.

"Yes, your friends are going to be juniors while you're still a sophomore. Do you understand Scott? You cannot fail."

"I know," Scott said sincerely, there was an edge of sadness in his tone. _Stress,_ Julian noticed under the heavy chemical smell of the hospital.

"Okay," his mother said, nodding to herself and relaxing. "Thank you."

"We're going to go study," Scott told her earnestly. "I'm not going to fail."

Acknowledging Julian's presence for the first time, "I take it you're Julian?" Scott's mother asked, sizing him up quickly. Her gaze lingered on the splint on his wrist.

"Yes, ma'am," Julian replied automatically. Self-consciously shifting the splinted hand, he offered her a polite smile. "We're just going to go study for chemistry."

"For the test you missed?" she asked Scott pointedly.

"The make up test," Scott answered with a chagrined expression.

"We're supposed to meet Stiles there," Julian explained. "Chemistry isn't my best subject, but I've got some notes from my old school that are way clearer than the ones Stiles and Scott got."

Giving his mother a quick hug, Scott released her and gave her a faintly apologetic smile. "We should go, wouldn't want to keep Stiles waiting. I'll pick you up at the end of shift."

"Nice to meet you, ma'am," Julian said, shuffling by her and hurrying out of the hospital with Scott.

* * *

For a group on the run from the cops, Stiles and Allison hadn't done much to actually hide the van.

They'd actually parked it in a relatively open area; smart for being able to drive off with a low likelihood of getting stuck on a branch or rock, but hardly hidden. Julian could spot the car through the thinning trees before he got even remotely close to where Stiles was standing with Allison. They were far away from any existing trails and the houses that lined the edge of the Preserve to avoid any but the most lost hiker, yet Julian couldn't help but think they should've at least covered the van. There was a rock outcropping a few minutes walk away that would have provided a better hiding place.

"Hey," Julian called over, deciding not to startle them. While it would be entertaining to do so to Stiles, Allison was liable to shoot him.

"Where's Scott?" Allison asked. The brunette was wrapped in a jacket and had pulled her knit hat down over her ears. Her nose was a bright shade of pink, and she kept stamping her feet to try and bring feeling back into her legs.

"He went to look for Danny's tablet, he was recovering a video for Jackson. He should be here soon. He biked, I walked."

Julian wasn't wrong. Within five minutes of uncomfortable silence, Scott arrived with his bike and a dejected expression on his face.

"The tablet isn't there; someone ripped the door open and took it," he informed his friends.

Allison arched an eyebrow. "If by someone you mean Jackson."

"If Jackson doesn't remember being the kanima, he's definitely not going to remember stealing Danny's tablet," Scott said with a shrug.

Stiles didn't seem overly convinced. "Why would he steal the thing if he doesn't even know what's on it?"

"Exactly," Julian agreed, unconsciously adopting a posture his sister used to assume when she was practicing closing arguments; his arms folded neatly over his chest. "Besides, Danny promised not to look at the video and was just going to give it to him. He wouldn't need to steal it anyways. And he's been with us the entire time since the club. Unless the kanima can teleport, which at this point wouldn't really surprise me."

"No motive or opportunity," Stiles muttered half to himself.

Nodding in agreement, Allison's calculating look returned. "What if somebody else took it?" she suggested.

"Seems likely," Julian said.

"Yeah," Stiles conceded. "But that means that somebody else knows what he is."

"Which could mean someone's protecting him!" Scott jumped in eagerly.

"Yeah, like the bestiary says, the kanima seeks a friend," Allison added.

Julian frowned. Ms. Morrell had barely translated anything in the bestiary, yet something about the statement rang wrong to him. Sure, his memories of the stories Peter had told were foggy to say the least, but he couldn't help but feel that he was missing something.

"Okay, so hold on," Stiles said skeptically. "Somebody watches Jackson make a video of himself turning into the kanima and then just erases part of it so he wouldn't know? Like, who would do that?"

"Somebody who wanted to protect him?" Allison suggested.

"Someone who doesn't care that he's killing people," Julian added darkly.

"They can't know that," Allison pointed out hopefully.

"In Beacon Hills? I'll go with the cynical answer. That way if you guys are right, I'll be pleasantly surprised," Julian responded with a shrug.

"There's something else. You said that the only thing you found online about the kanima was that it goes after murderers. What if that's actually true?" Scott asked Stiles thoughtfully.

Julian cocked his head to the side with curiosity and Allison bit her lip thoughtfully.

Stiles shut him down; shaking his head and raising an eyebrow. "No, it can't be. He tried to kill all of us, remember? I don't know about you three, but I haven't murdered anybody lately."

Scott pressed his point. "Well, I don't think it was actually trying to kill us. Remember, when were at Isaac's the first time? It went right by us, didn't it?" Scott continued.

"You're right, it just ran off," Allison said, her eyes widening and the gears turning in her head.

"And it didn't kill you at the mechanic's garage," Scott interjected with growing excitement.

"Well yeah, but it tried to kill me and Derek in the pool," Stiles reminded him, a frown creasing his forehead as the memory came back.

Even so, Scott was undeterred. "Did it?"

"It would've, it was just waiting for us to come out!"

Julian shook his head and interrupted. "It just left Erica and I alone. Once we were down, it just walked away."

Scott nodded. "What if it was trying to keep you in?"

Gaping for a moment, Stiles' expression went from skeptical to gaping, his mouth flapping open and closed several times before he found the words. "Why do I feel so violated all of a sudden?"

"Because there's something else going on," Scott answered seriously. "We don't know what it is. We don't know anything about what's going on with Jackson or why someone's protecting him."

"Know they enemy," Allison whispered.

"Sun Tzu, _The Art of War,_ " Julian cited.

"My grandfather mentioned it earlier," Allison said quietly.

"That doesn't make me feel any more comfortable," Julian muttered. "Gerard scares me enough already. He's probably a Machiavelli fan."

After a moment of thoughtful silence, Stiles broke it. "Alright. Kill Jackson. Problem solved," he said confidently, spreading his arms out in a shrug of sorts.

"He risked his life for us! Against Peter! Remember that?" Scott demanded.

"Yes, but what did we just find out?" Stiles argued. "He got the bite from Derek. It's funny how he just got exactly what he wanted by supposedly risking his life for us. It's funny." Grinning sardonically, Stiles shot the back of the van a dark glare.

Closing his eyes, Julian focused on the inside of the van to find Jackson's heartbeat. It was fluttering unevenly.

"It doesn't mean he's still not worth saving," Scott said confidently.

"It's always something with him though," Stiles said, his resolve weakening against his friend's faith and conviction.

"He doesn't know what he's doing," Scott argued, desperation touching his tone.

Stiles scoffed. "So what?"

"So I didn't either!" Scott half shouted. Julian's eyes shot open, Allison's face morphed into one of sympathy, and Stiles grimaced and looked at his feet while Scott turned to his girlfriend. "Remember I almost killed you and Jackson? I had someone to stop me. He has nobody."

"That's his own fault," Stiles muttered.

Jackson's heartrate jumped briefly, and Julian could have sworn that he could smell genuine sadness in the air. _He's a teenager. He's scared and alone, and he has no one to guide him. Wolves don't do well alone; we need packs for a reason. Just like people need other people._

"Doesn't matter," Scott said definitively. "If we can save him, we should try."

"Fine, but I still say we keep it as Plan B," Stiles muttered. "Or Plan D," he joked, trying unsuccessfully to lift the mood.

"You really want to kill him? Go right on ahead." The group stared at Julian in genuine shock and Jackson's heartrate skyrocketed. Julian shrugged, oblivious to the increasing resemblance to Derek. "What? None of you are actually going to do it. Suggesting something that's not going to happen is a waste of time and eventually it's going to seem like the best option. And then you're going to have a crisis and realise I was right. So can we stop wasting time and energy on a solution we're not going to use?"

Scott winced at Julian's blunt point but nodded in agreement. "He's not wrong," he pointed out. "The kanima hasn't actually killed us for a reason."

Spreading his arms to his sides, Julian shot the others a triumphant smile. "No, I'm not wrong. Which is why I'm going to see if my family knew anything about whatever Jackson turned into. We need more information first."

"I'll see if I can get the Latin translated," Allison offered. Looking down at her watch, her face turned worried. "Look, I've got to go. My parents will kill me if I'm late. I'll try and meet you after dark," she promised, giving Scott a quick peck on the cheek before hurrying off into the woods.

"I can stay until seven or so," Julian said. "Then I've got to go help Deaton with the rabbits. And I need to sleep in an actual bed. The insomnia is bad enough as it is."

"I'll stay overnight," Scott said with a faintly dreamy smile.

Stiles and Julian shot each other identical looks of exasperation. "I'll stay until dinner," Stiles said, rolling his eyes. "I've got to drop food off for my dad at the station."

Still smiling dreamily, Scott leaned against a tree, staring into the middle distance. Stiles shifted on the balls of his feet, looking for something to do.

Swinging his bag off of his shoulder, Julian grabbed his chemistry work and hopped up on the front of the van. "So what chapter are we starting with?"

Scott stared at him in disbelief. "You're kidding, right?"

"Not like there's anything else to do," Stiles pointed out. "And you and Allison are _not_ going to be studying later."

"Actual chemistry first," Julian said, folding his legs up and opening his books. "You still have a test, remember?"

Stiles grinned. "Unfortunately saving the town doesn't count as extra credit."


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: A few quick things. First, I'm not American (which is why I spell 'colour' correctly) and I'm fairly sure that in the US, _Smarties_ are what you call _Rockets._ So for clarity's sake, the _Smarties_ mentioned in this chapter are those M&M-like candies that come in a cardboard box. _Rockets_ are a hard candy that comes in a cylinder. **

**With regards to werewolf healing: _Prozac_ and _Lexapro_ are both anti-depressants/anti-anxiety medication that are called SSRIs or Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors. This means that they work to treat both conditions by preventing the body from reabsorbing serotonin. So presumably werewolf healing wouldn't affect them (Plus Julian's healing ability isn't great to begin with). I'm not entirely clear on whether werewolves being unable to get drunk is a metabolic thing or they simply are better at processing the toxin... Anyways, I'm going with the assumption that the SSRI would work (might have to use a higher dosage) seeing as brain chemistry is not the same thing as healing broken bones and soft tissue damage. **

**And lastly, I'm sorry this was late; I meant to get this out earlier but I had a report due, and I literally restarted this chapter 3 times before finding something I'm happy with and I wasn't sure how to break up the sections (the next two chapters were originally connected to this).**

 **So thank you for your patience and support.**

* * *

The last time Julian had been to the local Dairy Queen, he'd been eight. Peter had taken him and Cora as an agreement that they would say nothing about the rather large dent in the living room wall. Talia had been suspicious as to Peter's sudden insistence that Julian's painting hang in the room, but hadn't pressed the issue.

The building had been revamped since Julian had last been there; the sign was new and the layout had changed to incorporate the new design changes. Even though it had been redone, the building still looked old. The brick was chipped on the outside and the store windows were the type that the dirt had seemingly sunk into, giving them a permanently fogged-over look. On the inside, the white paint was peeling off the metal chairs to reveal the steel underneath, and the tables were more of a light beige than the original colour. The counter was taped over with advertisements that varied from a couple of months late to several years; many were covered in ice cream stains.

Pulling off a large chunk of the thick white paint with his splinted hand and setting it on the table next to him, Julian stirred his Blizzard with a spoon, watching the Smarties bleed into ice cream; turning it into a brief rainbow that rapidly shifted to a muddied grey-brown colour.

Deaton had gone next door to ask Melody's former emissary, Chloe O'Hara, if she knew anything about kanimas. The tiny, half-Irish woman was, in the nicest way, practically a living fossil. She'd moved to Beacon Hills a few years before Julian had been born, and had been fond of stopping by to drink tea with his mother. Her library of supernatural knowledge was the stuff of legend; the only people who truly had full access to it were the Alphas and her niece who had gone on to be Kali's emissary if Julian remembered correctly. If anyone was likely to have seen a kanima or know something about one, it was her.

Despite working with them for near fifty years, Chloe was not a big werewolf fan. Talia had been a rare exception, and even so, the old woman had spent most of the times she visited making superior comments and dog jokes (the latter of which she had a seemingly unending supply of). Deaton had suggested Julian might want to wait outside.

Julian had agreed, and had quickly made the decision to go to Dairy Queen, where he sat replaying Allison's words over and over in his head.

 _'Someone else is controlling him. The kanima doesn't seek a friend, it seeks a master.'_

 _He's not in control, someone is using him like a puppet._

 _Making him kill for them._

 _Mr. Lahey._

 _The mechanic._

 _The hunter._

 _It went after Stiles; he knew what happened… And Danny for the video._

 _Was that Jackson or the person controlling him?_

And now Jackson had escaped.

Scott had called him about twenty minutes ago, speaking at near Stiles level speed, saying that they were going to tell the Sheriff the truth. That Allison was probably going to tell her parents, and that they couldn't do this alone anymore. They needed help; adult help. The police force and the hunters. And more than that, they needed someone to take the burden from them, though that last part remained unspoken.

Julian couldn't blame them. They were teenagers, and they had no one to go to with this but each other. Julian had never had to worry about that. If he was having trouble near the full moon, he just asked Talia, and later, Laura. Now he had Deaton. Even if Deaton was possibly the most annoyingly cryptic person alive, he was reliable and he listened. Julian could talk to him. Without fear of being judged or holding back like he'd been forced to through years of therapy. While talking was good and had helped, he doubted telling his therapist that he was a werewolf was going to convince her that he was feeling any better.

The others didn't have that.

And while Julian was aware that he was stubborn, bitter and a pain in the ass, he wasn't feeling like adding 'hypocrite' to the list.

He had wanted out more times than he cared to admit. The others were entitled to that as well.

Not that they were really asking for an out. They were asking for support. A net. So that the next time they jumped, falling wasn't as scary.

Stiles telling his father the truth actually struck Julian as a good thing. The man had no idea what was going on in the town he was trying to protect, and he was constantly trying to fit together the pieces of a puzzle; unaware that he was missing half of them. Having someone on the police force who knew about the supernatural could be good for the human residents and the force itself- Defending against a werewolf was much easier when you knew it was a werewolf, and not a mountain lion or a serial killer who planted evidence to make it look like a mountain lion. And maybe, Julian couldn't help but think, if there had been someone on the force who knew the truth, then maybe Kate Argent wouldn't have gotten away with murder for six years.

On the other hand, telling the Argents still struck Julian as a terrible idea. He knew that not all hunters were murderous assholes. A lot of them were though, and the Argents fell into that category. Scott had reassured him that Allison was only _thinking_ of telling her father, and that Chris Argent was 'kind of reasonable' (which was a weird way to describe a man who had threatened to shoot you for dating his daughter). He'd also said that they weren't going to tell them who it was. Not yet at least.

Which forced Julian to confront another issue.

Gerard had to have figured out what it was by now. The man, unfortunately, wasn't stupid, and it was _his_ bestiary they'd stolen. There was no way that he didn't have at least a rough idea of what it was. It wasn't as if there were a multitude of other possibilities to choose from. If he hadn't told his family yet, there had to be a reason…

Deep in thought and halfway through his ice cream, Julian almost missed the figure in his peripheral vision.

Almost.

Rolling his eyes, Julian walked out of the dingy shop, Blizzard in hand, and out onto the street.

If he hadn't known better, Julian would've suspected that Derek had chosen the location specifically because of how his silhouette looked against the bruised purple sky. Julian had taken art, Laura music, and Derek was so naturally dramatic that he hadn't really needed the performing arts course.

"There's a murderer on the loose, and you're eating ice cream?" Derek asked. His posture was steady and grounded, but Julian knew that Derek hadn't meant for his brother to see him. Derek could cover his surprise as well as anything else, and Julian knew him well enough to see through it.

Julian shrugged and took a bite of the Blizzard. "And you're stalking people," he responded.

Derek shook his head seriously. "I'm checking on you," he corrected. "The Argents… I know you're mad at me, Jules, but even if you're not pack, you are family."

"So you've been stalking to show me how much you care?" Julian asked with a wry smile.

Derek stared skywards for several seconds before he gathered his thoughts. "Are you going keep being like this?"

"It's worked for the past five years," Julian said with a shrug. Even he couldn't tell if he was joking or not. Or if he was talking to himself or to Derek. Setting the spoon back in his ice cream with a quiet sigh, Julian regarded his brother with a conflicted look before he made a decision.

"The bestiary got translated. Derek, the kanima is being controlled by someone," Julian hesitantly explained. "And the master… That's who we need to be looking for. Whether or not you think the kanima needs to die; the master is more important, and we can't find one without the other."

Something flickered across Derek's face, but even Julian couldn't read it. He doubted Laura could've managed it either.

"Derek, Kate got away with murder for six years. I'm not letting that happen to someone else," Julian said softly. He was too tired to have an argument. And this was a more or less civil conversation. That was how bridges were rebuilt, wasn't it? Bit by bit. Sure, Derek had been a colossal asshole lately, and he hadn't apologised for leaving Julian in Kansas, cutting him out of his life, treating him like he was still twelve, or trying to kill a person (who turned out to be innocent as Derek seemed to be conveniently forgetting), but Julian couldn't quite bring himself to be mad at his brother for keeping an eye out for him.

The other stuff, sure. But not that.

The cynical part of him wanted to say that Derek was probably just waiting for an opportunity for Julian to accidentally lead him to the kanima.

The other part remembered that they'd both lost everyone else. First in a fire, and then thanks to Peter. They were still family, and Derek's new pack was never going to replace the one that they had lost because of Kate Argent. People changed, but never that much. Beneath the scowls and brooding demeanour, Derek was still the brother he'd grown up with.

"What is it?" Julian asked. "You only ever look like that when you're hiding something."

Derek took an inordinately long amount of time contemplating whether or not to tell Julian whatever it was he was trying to hide from him.

Tilting his head to the side, Julian stared his brother down and sipped at his half-melted ice cream.

"Gerard was there. Before the club," Derek explained brusquely. "It walked over to him; it circled him and he just stood there. Like he was waiting for something. Like he _knew_ something," he said, his brow furrowing. "The information Scott and Stiles found came from _his_ bestiary."

 _The kanima goes after murderers…_

"Shit," Julian muttered in growing horror as the pieces fell into place. "Derek, if it's a creature of-"

"Revenge," Derek said flatly, though the nervousness in the air took away from his appearance of perfect calm. "I'm aware."

"Shit," Julian repeated. The word didn't- couldn't really summarise how colossally fucked the two of them were... He needed to say something though, and that was all that would come out.

 _At least Gerard stabbing you isn't a concern now._

 _He's just going to sic a fucking lizard monster on you and Derek._

 _And Derek's pack._

 _And every other werewolf in Beacon Hills._

An all too familiar pit opened back up in Julian's stomach, and his appetite fled. "Of all the people to have a born killer under their control, Gerard is really not high on the list of people I'd want in that position," he said quietly. Stirring the ice cream, spoon tightly clamped in violently shaking fingers, Julian could feel a surge of dread welling up within him.

 _Now is not the time to start freaking out._ _Focus on the present. He doesn't have the kanima yet. So how do you stop it?_

Studying Derek carefully, being sure to keep track of his heartbeat, Julian spoke. "How long have you known?"

"That Gerard is going to use it to kill every werewolf he comes across?" Derek tilted his head to the side in an unintentional mirror of his younger brother. "After we found out what it was. There's no way he didn't realise that Scott and the others found the bestiary."

"I meant how long have you known who it is?"

Derek flinched a little at that. He didn't lie though. "That it's Jackson? Since the house. He's the only one who turned recently enough and I could smell him outside."

Julian considered lying. He didn't see the point. He was only confirming what Derek already suspected, and at this point, it didn't matter. Derek wanted to kill Jackson, sure, however, he couldn't actually do it. He'd asked for help the night before because all Derek had was a pack of untrained betas facing off against something that could easily beat them all.

The kanima was too difficult an opponent to go up against without knowing its weaknesses, and Derek didn't have access to the book or to any other sources of information on them. That was why he had confronted Julian at the club. Not because he wanted to know what it was, but because he needed help figuring out how to end the problem that he had unintentionally started by biting Jackson.

Julian looked to his brother's stoic form, seeing the nerves and frustration at being unable to protect his pack underneath. "Does the pack know?"

"Not yet."

"Are you going to kill him?"

"I haven't decided."

It wasn't the answer Julian had wanted to hear. It was honest though. And that meant something.

"Derek, if we kill Jackson, we just force his hand," Julian said, trying to look at the flaws in the plan as quickly as he could. The questionable morality involved wouldn't stop Derek like it would the others. "If we even _can_ kill him. You said yourself that the hunters haven't killed him yet."

"Jules, he's killing people." Derek's brow furrowed once more and a flash of vulnerability flicked across his eyes before he turned stoic once more. "He's my responsibility. I'm the one who turned him. I have to be the one to take care of him."

"By _take care of_ , you mean _kill."_

"Probably. Unless you have any better suggestions?"

"We wait and we research. We figure out what we're dealing first. Then we figure out who we're dealing with," Julian said more confidently than he felt. "Running into a situation without enough information has gotten us nowhere so far. And it puts more people at risk. You're lucky that you didn't actually kill Lydia," he added with an accusatory tone.

"She was immune. It made sense at the time." There was no trace of an apology or regret in his voice. Just an empty recitation. As though he'd said it so many times that the words lost their meaning a long time ago.

Narrowing his eyes, Julian fought down a rising wave of anger. "Of course it did. And I'm sure whatever explanation you were planning on giving Erica or Isaac would take away the lasting psychological effects of killing their classmate."

That got a reaction.

Derek gritted his teeth. "Can we have one discussion without doing this?" he asked.

Julian raised an eyebrow. "Pointing out facts? Fine. What do you want me to do? Agree with you? Tell you that we should just throw ourselves at a monster that we can't defeat? Keep trying to kill someone who's being controlled? Let the real killer walk away? Ride off into the sunset while another person takes the blame? Dies for them?" Staring at his brother with resignation, Julian let his shoulders drop and his frown fade, exhaustion taking over. "Derek, if you wanted someone to agree with you, then you should be talking to your betas."

"I screwed up!" Derek's face was contorted with a mixture of guilt and anger, his posture rigid. "Alright? I needed a pack and I chose them because they needed help. Isaac's dad was hitting him. Locking him in a damn freezer! Erica had seizures. And the taste of blood was the warning of the pain to come. Boyd was alone and…"

Julian winced. He'd known about Erica's epilepsy… The others though…

 _'Being alone and hurt does not give you an excuse to do it to other people',_ he forcibly reminded himself. The voice in his head was not his own. It was his sister's.

Laura had been echoing their therapist. It was a mantra she lived by. After all they had been through, she refused to let the fire be an excuse. She insisted that strength, that moving forwards was more important. That letting the fire be the only thing to define them was an insult to their family's memory and was letting Kate win. They were the words she'd yelled at Derek after he came home after another fight. Once joy-filled eyes had become drained of everything except rage and guilt that neither Julian or his sister could explain.

His eyes had been blue for two years at the time, and he seemed to be giving in to them.

Julian thought of that night in Scott's house, flashing back to Isaac's cruel smirk as he stood in the living room, intent on getting up the stairs.

 _What if he'd made it up? Would he really have killed her? Would he have at least hesitated?_

 _Would his eyes still be gold?_

 _Or would they turn blue?_

Julian stared at Derek with a torn expression. He didn't support the betas' decisions, but he could understand why they'd joined Derek now. Why they had been willing to kill for him. He was the one who made them better. Or at least that was what they thought. He had come into their lives and had offered them an out. A way to heal from any physical wounds, not realising that they were opening themselves to a world they didn't have a chance of understanding unless they had been a part of it.

Derek was the one who held all the solutions for them. Their saviour and leader.

They were trying to understand a world they just entered through the eyes of someone else. And only him. Not considering that sometimes experience left you jaded rather than right.

Derek let out a sigh, and spoke passionately, though still quite softly. "They were hurting. And no one else noticed. Or cared," he said, genuine disgust and desperation bleeding into his voice. "I needed a pack, and I thought they deserved the bite." Taking a breath, Derek's eyes briefly flared blood red, the familiar colour only worsening his brother's nausea.

Julian hadn't really looked at Derek when he'd changed. There'd been other things to worry about. But standing in the deserted street, it was impossible to look away from the blood-coloured gleam to Derek's eyes...

 _Laura was running, he was in her arms, head bouncing loosely along with her strides. Looking up, he could see her tear-streaked face. Still mostly human… gold eyes scanning the forest in fear as gunshots followed them out._

 _The others were in the basement… They couldn't get out._

 _Get away._

 _That was all that was left._

 _Get away…_

 _Leave them behind._

 _He could hear them screaming. Or maybe he only thought he could… That he should. Or maybe it was his own cries, echoing around his skull. His lungs were burning… Aching like the air still wasn't clear. Like the wall and the smoke were still crushing his chest…_

 _He could see them in the distance. The glow still visible no matter how far Laura ran, the trees dark shadows against a terrible blaze. Like they could never get away… They were leaving them behind. Leaving them to scream as they burned..._

 _His hand didn't hurt anymore, blackened fingers reaching out for the burning house… It hurt to move… To breathe… They were dying… So was he… That's what this felt like… Like the world was caving in around him…_

 _Laura was screaming at Derek to run… Escape. The words were too far away... Overtaken by the roaring in his ears. And then she was staring at him, yelling at him as she pulled him closer to her chest… Tears streaming down her face as her eyes turned scarlet like the flames they were running from._

Derek's voice brought him back.

Clenching the spoon with badly shaking hands, Julian took in an unsteady breath and tried to focus on the present. ' _I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul'._ Henley's words steadied Julian's hands enough that he was actually able to let go of the spoon, moving his hand to drum against his thigh, still trembling uncontrollably.

His brother's eyes were human again. Green. Really green- not like his, that were a mess of grey and blue that shifted like seawater. Actually green. Like their mother's.

Waiting until Julian's breathing steadied and his heartrate slowed, Derek spoke genuinely. "I'm trying, Jules. I made them a promise. That I'd train them. That we'd take care of each other."

Staring at his brother, "What do you want, Derek?" Julian asked, fighting to keep his voice even.

"I want your help. And Scott's," Derek stated. "The others… We need people who know what they're doing."

While Derek may have been initially talking about needing people who were going to call him on his bullshit, the last part was about something else too. "They can't control the shift, can they?" It wasn't really a question.

Derek nodded stiffly. "No. And they'll end up killing someone. Someone innocent," he corrected. "For the record, I wasn't going to make them kill Lydia. I just wanted them to empty the house… That was and still is _my_ responsibility. Just like it's my responsibility to finish this and protect them. From the Argents as well as themselves."

"If you're asking for my help, Prozac does wonders," Julian suggested with a faint grin.

Though Derek rolled his eyes, a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "I don't think that's the best solution," he replied.

"Well, in my experience Lexapro is probably the better of the two options, but from a general standpoint…"

"Jules," Derek said sharply, causing his younger brother to break of mid-sentence. "I need help. The full moon is coming up, and if I leave them chained up in the depot-"

"You're using the _depot?_ What's wrong with the apartment? At least there if you get attacked, people will call the cops-"

Shooting Julian a mildly aggravated look for the interruption, Derek continued. "You and Laura... You could control it. Better than the rest of us."

"Derek, that was _years_ of practice and it's not the same thing. It's not… You know what happened to-" Julian hesitated. _Dad_ didn't feel like the right word. And not just because the word referred to a different person for him than it did for Derek and Laura. His father had given into the monster that lurked beneath the surface. A terrifying reminder that Julian being able to control himself during the full moon a necessity, more so than usual. "I barely got a handle on it… And that was before the fire. I can't-"

"You can shift normally," Derek interrupted. "And that's enough for them. I just… I need to make sure they don't kill anyone."

Fixing his brother with a serious look, Julian came to a decision. "If I help you with your dog training, I want a promise. You give us a week to figure something out," Julian stated. "To research and look at other options."

"And you'll help the others?"

"I'll do what I can."

Derek waited longer than was really necessary before he nodded, a genuine smile on his features. "I'll see you tomorrow."


	9. Chapter 9

"You know, they sell water balloon slingshots that can definitely go fifty feet," Julian commented idly as he scanned through his sister's files.

"I don't think that would help," Scott replied, morosely poking at his sandwich.

"Oh, I don't know. If we filled it with dye…" Stiles said with a grin, his mouth stuffed full of his lunch. Chewing loudly, the lanky teen leaned over to stare at the screen over Julian's shoulder. "So do you need any help with- That's not English," he finished, staring at the letters on the page with a sense of horror.

"It's Gaelic. My family's Scottish," Julian explained, scanning through the text. "These were my great-great grandmother's."

"You can read that?"

"Sort of. I'm out of practice but I can still read most of this. Or enough to get the basics," Julian responded. "A lot of these books were _old._ My mom had Laura and Peter start scanning them before the fire, she wanted us to have extra copies. After… After the fire, Laura scanned what she could find before we left." Shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, Julian turned to Stiles with a shrug. "I don't know where to start… Half of this is way over my head and the rest isn't organised very well," he admitted. "I can send you anything on the kanima, but I'll have to translate the non-English parts first."

"Do you think there will be anything in there about the kanima?" Scott asked hopefully.

"Honestly? No. If the most Stiles could dig up was that it was a South American creature, my hopes aren't high." Scott's face fell, and Julian quickly tried to reassure him. "But there might be something. My mom used to act a leader in the supernatural world. She met a lot of people and she gathered what she could from all of them. There might be something. If there's enough stuff for the kanima to be a bedtime story, then it has to have started somewhere. Somewhere in all of the files..." he trailed off, studying the text in front of him as he struggled to read through it.

"You have fun with that," Stiles managed through a mouthful of fries.

Not looking up from the screen, Julian raised an eyebrow. "I will. And you can have fun with the whole 'talking to Jackson' thing that you were so confident about. Might be a little difficult seeing as he is a narcissistic asshole who has a restraining order against you though."

"How did you get out of a restraining order anyway?" Stiles asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Because Jackson doesn't know my name and because he hates you two," Julian stated. "He let Allison off the hook too. Possibly because he thinks that her parents will come to her defense and get her out of it. If another lawyer gets involved, things get messy. Did I mention that he _really_ doesn't like you?"

"The feeling is mutual," Stiles responded. "And the word 'hate' comes to mind."

Scott shifted. "I wouldn't say _hate…"_

"You can smell it as well as I can, McCall," Julian responded, scanning the index for anything on the effects of the bite or the results of the bite.

"He's scared and he's confused. I know how that feels," Scott said, shooting a look to where Jackson was sitting, a smug smile on his very-punchable face, with Danny and some other people from the lacrosse team.

"You didn't go around murdering people as a giant lizard monster," Stiles reminded him.

"I almost did."

"How did you control it?" Julian asked curiously. "Derek asked me to help with his betas," he explained. "Most born wolves have issues but you seem to have figured it out."

"You're helping Derek?" Stiles exclaimed.

"I'm making sure they don't kill anyone," Julian clarified with an annoyed edge to his voice. "And I'm also helping _you_. The people who blamed my sister's murder on Derek and said that he was chasing them through the school trying to kill him. Starting a manhunt and meaning that everyone thought that I was related to a serial killer." _Which you are. It's just not Derek._

"You… You knew about that, huh?"

"Why do you think I've been helping you?" Julian asked, looking up from the laptop with a guileless look. "This way when I have my revenge the expressions of surprise will be _much_ funnier."

Stiles nearly choked on his food. Scott smiled a bit though, and Julian felt a slight rush of happiness that he'd managed to get a grin out of the unhappy beta. The restraining order had been something Scott wasn't taking as well as Stiles. At least not outwardly. Julian got the sense that Stiles wasn't the most open person, and still thought that Jackson had it coming. Not that Julian was necessarily going to argue the latter.

"Derek said that you two figured it out on your own," Julian stated, ignoring Stiles coughing fit. "He was impressed. And Derek isn't impressed by much."

"It's Allison," Scott attempted to explain. "Stiles was throwing balls at me because I was worried about our date and turning because of the bus driver, so he tried that, but we couldn't really figure it out. Then in class… Derek said it was anger but I wasn't angry when she held my hand and-"

Scott seemed to notice Julian's bemused and lost expression.

"Derek said that anger was the trigger," Stiles took over. "So I figured that I needed to get him angry. Turns out that pain isn't the only thing that keeps you human," he said with a proud smile.

"Still, even people with anchors struggle," Julian said. "I know you guys have a sort of limited experience of werewolves, so you don't know how unusual that is…"

"If by 'limited' you mean most of them try to kill us. Or maim us. And otherwise do us bodily harm, then yeah. 'Limited' works great," Stiles said, using air quotes around the word 'limited'.

Grinning crookedly at Stiles' grumbling, Julian went back to scrolling through the data.

After twenty minutes of scouring the files and intermittently taking in a mouthful of his pasta, Julian had found nothing helpful. Most of the work that had been translated from the original language into English wasn't of much use; it was all just proofs of commonly known facts and information on just about every shifter _except_ for a kanima.

Frowning to himself, Julian twitched in surprise at Scott's hand on his shoulder. He hadn't even noticed the two had gotten up.

Smiling at Julian's surprised expression, Scott nodded towards the exit of the cafeteria. "Come on, we need to head to the library before Allison does."

Still shaking off the surprise, Julian shut the laptop and followed them out of the cafeteria.

* * *

Stiles spent the time in the library pretending to read. He had yet to notice that the book he was holding was upside down, and was a young adult romance novel. Scott wasn't much better. He was pretending to read the book over Stiles' shoulder, but kept throwing the least subtle glances towards the door. Even when his head was actually pointed at the book, his ears were obviously tilted so that he could hear whoever entered the library.

At least they were out of sight of the cameras. Hidden behind the shelves like this, they were finally in a blind spot. School felt near claustrophobic knowing that Gerard was watching every step that any of them took. He probably had people watching out for them too. Teachers wouldn't be worried about reporting to the man about his granddaughter, after all.

 _You're becoming a little bit paranoid._

 _It's not paranoia if he really is trying to kill me._

Staring at the text on screen, Julian bit back a groan of frustration. His language skills were rusty to say the least, and he was struggling to get through the information in a timely fashion. Drumming his fingers against the keyboard, he was contemplating taking a break when Allison breezed passed the three of them and turned briskly into the next aisle over, passing a tablet through the bookshelf to Scott. "That's everything that Lydia could translate," she said. Julian stood up to peer at the words over Scott's shoulder. Stiles did the same; still flipping through his romance novel. "And trust me," Allison continued. "She was very confused."

"Yeah?" What'd you tell her?" Scott asked, reading through the information.

Allison paused, and through the opening in the shelf, Julian could see her smiling. "That we were part of an online gaming community that battles mythical creatures," she responded softly, as though the absurdity of the lie was still something she couldn't quite wrap her head around.

Scott snorted, prompting Allison's grin to widen. Julian's lips quirked into an amused smile as he took in Stiles affronted expression.

"I _am_ part of an online gaming community that battles mythical creatures," Stiles said, taken aback by his friends' reactions.

"Oh," Allison said, holding back laughter for the sake of politeness and not drawing attention to herself and the others. "Great."

"Okay," Scott said, the grin falling from his face, trying to get the conversation back on track. "Does it say how to find out who's controlling him?"

"Not really. But Stiles is right about the murderers."

"Yes!" Stiles exclaimed excitedly, pumping the air with his fist and attracting a couple of glances from students trying to work, as well as his friends.

"It calls the kanima a 'weapon of vengeance,'" Allison continued almost reluctantly. "There's this story about this South American priest who uses the kanima to execute the murderers in his village."

"Alright? See? So maybe it's not all bad," Stiles said optimistically.

Julian raised an eyebrow. "There's a 'but' coming," he stated.

"There might not be, right?"

Allison gave Stiles an apologetic shake of her head. "It only kills the murderers in the beginning. Until the bond grows strong enough that it killed whoever he wanted it to."

"All bad! All very, very bad!" Stiles declared, throwing his hands up in the air in defeat.

 _You're not a werewolf. At least he's not going to kill you. Or maybe he will. He doesn't care much for anyone who might pose a threat…_

Allison bit her lip before she spoke again. "Here's the thing though. The kanima is actually supposed to be a werewolf but it can't be…" She broke off and pretended to look at the titles on the shelf above her. Another girl had come into the area to return a book to its proper place. While Julian doubted she was one of Gerard's spies, he didn't want to risk it. Nor did the others.

After the girl was out of earshot, Scott resumed the conversation, reading from the tablet in front of him.

"Until it resolves that in its past that manifested it."

Stiles sighed loudly. "Okay, so that means that Jackson could use a few thousand hours of therapy. I could've told you that myself," he retorted.

"It's got to be more complicated than that," Julian commented. "Derek and I had our entire family burned alive, and neither of us are turning into lizard monsters. And mental health affects us just like humans; if it was that simple the kanima wouldn't be little more than a bedtime story."

"What if… it has something to do with his parents?" Stiles suggested. "His _real_ parents," he said, looking up to face the other three.

"Yeah, does anybody actually know what happened to them?" Scott asked.

If Jackson was adopted, that could mean something. Maybe if he'd never accepted his parents… Or if he'd never felt like he'd belonged. Been accepted. Jackson was hardly the first messed up kid to be bitten… Maybe it had something to do with the kanima being a weapon of vengeance and the fact he was turned, not born a werewolf.

"Lydia might," Stiles was saying hesitantly, unease was pouring off of him. It wasn't exactly hard to see that Stiles had a massive crush on the girl. Julian was, in general, relatively bad at reading people he wasn't very familiar with, but it was hard to miss the hormones and other scents that poured of Stiles whenever he thought about her. Or the total lack of subtlety with which he stared at her. Or how he was extremely defensive of her, as opposed to Jackson, who he wanted to kill. That, and Stiles talked _a lot_ in his sleep. And, as Julian had learned the day before, no amount of _MCR_ or _Fall Out Boy_ could totally drown him out.

"What if she doesn't know anything?" Scott asked.

"Well, he doesn't have a restraining order against me, so…" Allison pointed out with a grin.

Scott nodded, focused on the plan "Okay, what do I do?"

"Your chemistry test," Julian reminded him. "The one your mother had to beg the teacher to set up and you spent several hours last night studying for?"

Allison smirked at Scott's bewildered expression and reached through the bookshelves to rest her hand on top of Scott's. "Promise me that you'll go?"

Scott hesitated, then gripped Allison's hand tightly. "If he does anything, you run the other way," Scott said seriously.

Allison gave him a loving if vaguely annoyed look. "I can take care of myself," she reminded him.

"I'll come with you," Julian offered. "Not because you can't handle yourself, but Jackson is still the kanima, and it's better to be safe than sorry."

Scott's gaze flicked back and forth between the two of them. "Okay… but if he does anything-"

Allison raised an eyebrow. "Like?"

"Anything weird, bizarre. Anything…"

Stiles shoved his head through the shelf, forcing Allison and Scott to wrench their hands out of the way. "Anything _evil!"_

Grinning good-naturedly at Stiles, Allison shoved his head back through the shelf, causing Stiles to yelp and back up in order to get his head out of the shelf without hitting it. "Fine," Allison agreed, still grinning. "If he does anything weird-"

"Like turn into murder-lizard," Stiles interjected.

"Like turn into murder-lizard," Allison continued. "We will call you. If we need help." She gave Scott a questioning look, and he reluctantly nodded in agreement.

Julian slipped the laptop into his bag. "I'll see if I can track him," he said. "If you follow, you can tell your grandfather that you were tailing me. That way, you don't get in trouble and I don't get killed."

Allison nodded, and Julian gave her quick smile before exiting the library, his own words thrumming through his ears.

 _You won't get killed._

 _At least not yet._

* * *

Julian managed to follow Jackson's scent through the school and down to the locker room. Past that, it was impossible. The overwhelming odour of sweat was strong enough that even Allison could pick it up, along with all of the people who got stuck with a locker in the hallway.

Slipping into the room, Julian made sure that he was as quiet as possible. Converse were not exactly stealth shoes. Especially not bright yellow ones.

Wincing at the loud slap of his feet on the tile, Julian managed to duck behind a row of lockers before some dark-haired guy in a leather jacket spotted him. Focusing on his hearing, he checked to make sure there were no more unexpected visitors before relaxing slightly.

He had to tune out the guy hitting on Allison, then their racing hearts (Allison's from surprise, leather jacket's from anticipation and apprehension) and the pitter-patter of water streaming out of a showerhead. With them out of the way, he could focus on Jackson's heartbeat.

It was even. Steady. Julian doubted that Jackson had heard him enter. Or if he had, he simply didn't care. Which was either a good thing or a very bad thing.

He decided to wait for Allison; confronting Jackson on his own was far from a good idea. Julian wasn't hoping for a repeat of his last fight with the kanima. Especially if he ended up pissing it off.

Allison ducked into the room, somehow managing to be quieter than him, even in heels. Hunter training, Julian supposed as he carefully walked over to where she was standing apprehensively looking to the shower.

She pointed at the side room and gave Julian a questioning look.

Julian nodded once in acknowledgement, refocusing his attention on Jackson to find that his heartrate had spike dangerously high. Allison clearly noticed Julian's confusion and worry, but had no time to ask anything else before Jackson started to make horrible heaving noises; the hacking and coughing echoing off the tile walls of the room.

Shooting Julian an alarmed look to match his own, Allison bit her lip. Her skin was paler than normal and a thin sheen of sweat had appeared on her upper lip. Julian had no doubt that he looked similarly. Neither of them was confident that this was a good sign, and the other's reaction being frightened was only worsening the problem. They were possibly facing a monster that could kill them, and despite what Scott had offered, they were on there own for now.

Allison was the one who took the initiative and stepped forward slowly, Julian tagging behind her, unconsciously wrapping his fingers into fists as his eyes started to glow faintly.

"Jackson?" Allison called out uncertainly, her hand dropping to her side as though to grab a weapon that wasn't there. "Are you alright?"

The heaving came to an abrupt stop.

"In here," Jackson responded. His voice was oddly flat and his heartrate dropped to something far slower than it had been before. Like that of a reptile...

Julian gently tapped Allison on the shoulder. The wide-eyed hunter looked to him in confusion. 'Heart too slow,' he mouthed, tapping his hand over his chest to get the point across. Something was wrong. His werewolf senses were going crazy, screaming danger…

Nodding, Allison's face became set and she took a steadying breath before stepping out from behind the wall to face Jackson.

Then rapidly turning back around to lean against the wall with a horrified expression on her flushing cheeks. "You could've warned me!" she said, the initial shock wearing off as she stood, leaning against the wall.

"You're the one that walked into the boy's locker room." The response was _wrong._ Too nonchalant.

"I- I thought I heard you-" Allison cut herself off. "Forget it," she said, turning to Julian about to ask him something. Julian raised an eyebrow expectantly when suddenly Jackson stepped out from behind the wall, completely naked except for the sneer he was wearing on his face, leaning against the wall with his arm.

Allison took a step back, stumbling into Julian, who managed to steady her after she lost her balance upon backing onto his foot. At least she hadn't been wearing stilettos.

Jackson seemed to notice Julian for the first time, his smirk turning briefly confused before it turned into something darker.

"Who are you?" he asked, voice dripping with disgust.

Still holding onto Allison's arms, Julian forced himself to focus on a freckle on Jackson's cheekbone. "Maybe we should talk later," he managed, stepping back with Allison. She was shaking slightly. Or maybe that was him. Both of them probably.

"We need to get to class," Allison said, disentangling herself from Julian to step several feet back and to the right putting a good distance between her and Jackson, and her and Julian as she quickly removed her heels; holding one like a weapon.

 _So if he attacks he'll only be able to hit one of you. Preparing for a fight._

"No. No you don't," Jackson said. There was an almost manic look on his face as that awful grin returned and a harsh laugh escaped his lips. "Not when you have perfect grades. You can skip one class," he said, closing in like some kind of predator. Jackson was an asshole, but this was different. Like someone else had replaced Jackson. Torn out the humanity and shoved in nothing but malice to replace it.

 _So are you talking to the lizard or the master?_

"Jackson…" Julian said in a warning tone, still backing up. His claws were fully extended now and his eyes were vibrant yellow. His hands ready to spring into a guard and he kept his feet light in case Jackson made a lunge for him.

 _No cameras here. At least Gerard obeyed one law in Beacon Hills._

"You know, the two of you look a bit scared," Jackson said with a pout, leaning forwards as the pout turned to a twisted smile. "Your hearts are beating really fast… I wonder-"

Julian kicked him as hard as he could in the head.

It was a cheap shot. A dangerous shot. But something was wrong, and Julian wasn't going to give Jackson the chance to turn into the kanima.

Better now than later.

It barely made Jackson flinch.

If punching Derek was like hitting a brick wall; kicking Jackson was like kicking cement. Or iron.

Gasping in pain, Julian quickly backed up, golden eyes wide with alarm. That was not good.

Allison stepped forwards, bringing the pointed heel of her shoe towards Jackson's stomach only to have him grab her arm and violently twist it. The shoe fell from her grip.

Jackson sneered. "Did daddy teach you that? Maybe next time-"

Allison's other shoe sliced into Jackson's arm, leaving a deep red line in the skin, and she broke free.

The cut closed up unnaturally quickly. Even an Alpha couldn't heal that fast.

Shooting Allison a worried look, Julian stepped forwards and angled for Jackson's feet, hoping to trip him up so that they could get out of the locker room. If they could just get into the hallway, hopefully Jackson would go into self-preservation mode and leave them alone. If not, at least they had a place to run to. The cramped quarters of the locker room put the kanima at an advantage.

He underestimated Jackson's reaction time though. His foot barely left the ground before Jackson grabbed Julian's injured wrist and flung him sideways with little difficulty.

 _Idiot,_ Julian thought dully as he slammed heavily into the tile wall. A sharp pain went through his side and a dull ache began to spread through his body. The air had been knocked out of him, and he could feel his ribs protesting. _Might've cracked something._ There wasn't anything he could do about that now though.

Blinking several times and fighting a wave of dizziness Julian looked to see Allison briefly pinned to the wall by Jackson. She grabbed his throat, spinning Jackson off of her. Jackson managed to redirect the momentum and sent the two of them onto the floor.

Everything was perfectly still for a moment.

Allison's whole body had frozen as Jackson crouched over top of her with a nasty grin.

The grin faded abruptly, then Jackson was scrambling off Allison.

The teen's heartrate was thundering in Julian's ears… Fast. Human.

"Allison? What are you doing here?"

Allison rapidly scooted backwards so she was leaning against the wall, a relieved look on her face as she shuddered, trying to relax herself. Julian could hear her forcing her breathing to even out from the shallow, terrified breaths to longer, steadier ones.

Allison's breathing picked up as Scott barged into the room with a furious expression. Looking from Julian, half-sitting up with pieces of tile littered around him, to Allison, curled against the wall still trying to calm herself, to Jackson, frantically pulling on a pair of shorts, Scott charged.

"Scott, I'm fine!" Allison cried to no avail. Scott was furious. He bowled into Jackson, snarling as he threw the confused human to the ground.

Arrogance came back to Jackson first. "I have a restraining order!" he declared.

 _Does he really think that'll stop him?_ Julian asked himself as he gingerly pressed a tentative finger against his ribs. Most of the force had been dispersed through his right side and arm. His head hadn't hit the wall all that hard, so he wasn't worried about a concussion. He'd definitely hurt his ribs though. He could breathe fairly well, though it hurt to inhale too deeply. Nothing he could do though. All he could do was wait for them to heal and take pain killers in the mean time. He'd be stuck wearing sweaters for the next couple of days to cover up the bruising.

A loud crash sounded. Apparently Scott and Jackson had something against lockers.

"Hey, are you alright?" Allison asked, jumping as another loud sound echoed off the walls of the room.

Julian started as well. He hadn't seen her come over.

"Fine," he muttered, then tried to stand up, wincing as his ribs protested against the movement. "What about you?"

"I'm fine," she repeated. "He didn't do anything," she insisted. Julian got the feeling the words weren't meant for him.

"Was it even him though?" Julian asked, eyeing the carnage of the locker room. "I don't think that was Jackson."

"Neither do I," Allison admitted. Her worried gaze went towards where Scott was leaping at Jackson from on top of the lockers. "Should we do something?"

"I think at this point it's best to just stay out of the way," Julian responded. "He's not hurting him too badly. And if we get involved, he'll turn it into a story about us jumping him." Human Jackson didn't stand a chance against the two of them, and Julian didn't want to have to explain that he beat the shit out of his classmate because he was secretly a lizard monster. And pulling Scott off of him really didn't seem like a good option. Jackson would just keep attacking and force a confrontation.

When Jackson started winning, Allison made to step forward but Julian caught her arm. "Bad idea," he said as Jackson threw Scott through the door. "And it's better if the teachers see Jackson whaling on Scott than the other way around."

An enraged shout came from down the hallway as Jackson was pulled off Scott.

Julian's hope that Jackson appearing as the instigator and more violent of the two proved pointless. Mr. Harris was just a dick, and gave everyone in the hallway detention. Though Jackson didn't make any further comments about pressing the consequences of breaking a restraining order. Maybe because he was shaken by the events, or because he didn't want to have to explain why he'd attacked Allison and Julian. It would be their story against his, and Jackson's family money wouldn't get him out of that so easily.

Standing in the partially flooded hallway with Allison next to him, watching the water pool on the tile floor, Julian caught sight of Stiles beckoning him over.

Nodding, Julian quickly turned to Allison. "You're not bad," Julian told her with a grin. "For an Argent."

"And you're not bad for a Hale," she replied with a pale smile. "Go on. I'll take care of this," she said, her confidence returning. "I can handle my grandfather."

Julian wasn't sure anyone could actually handle Gerard, but he had to give Allison credit for trying.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: I'd like to really quickly say thank you to the people who reviewed the last couple chapters. It means a lot and makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, so thanks!**

* * *

Erica flopped into the chair next to Julian with a bored expression, leaning back to lazily study the library with half-lidded eyes.

"Oh, we can't be in detention together. I have a restraining order against these tools," Jackson proclaimed lazily, a smug smile on his face.

"Too bad the bite didn't kill him," Erica murmured, regarding the blonde boy with a disgusted expression.

Julian let out a noncommittal hum as he stared at the table across the room, a smile touching his lips at Harris' blatant shut down. Jackson looked like he'd been slapped in the face.

Just because Julian didn't support killing Jackson did not mean that he was going to be nice to the guy. There was a tiny part of him that understood that Jackson was in denial. He was probably scared and confused. Being forced to think of the missing hours and the late nights. And he couldn't believe it. Wouldn't let himself. So instead, he was lashing out at everyone who glanced his way. Who offered him help. Specifically the few people in town who didn't want to see his head on a pike.

At least not outside of their imaginations.

And in doing so, he was putting more people at risk.

Killing even more people all because he couldn't accept the fact that asking for the bite had in fact changed him in a way other than the one he'd wanted.

"I've been gone six years, and he's still an arrogant little prick," Julian grumbled, idly sketching out a line in his notebook.

Erica smirked. "Or overcompensating for having one," she replied.

Blinking for a moment at the unexpected joke, Julian wondered if he was going to have to reassess his opinion of Erica. His initial one had been somewhat skewed by her trying to kill Lydia, and the fact that he'd stabbed her through the hand with a pencil. Now that was no longer the case, she actually seemed to be, if not nice, not a terrible person who he wanted to stab through the hand with a pencil.

At least he wasn't stuck sitting with Isaac. The guy sort of struck Julian as an asshole with his stupid leather jacket and attitude. Plus, the two of them hadn't exactly gotten off on the right foot. Werewolf healing didn't make a hit to the kidney any less painful, and Julian wasn't exactly sorry. Isaac may have been pissing blood for a couple hours, but he'd heal. Lydia wouldn't have.

Erica's attention went from Jackson, seated with an affronted expression even now, to Julian; whose line was morphing into the outline of a face. "Derek said that you were coming over after school," the blonde girl said, narrowing her eyes and leaning forwards in her seat. "To help us with learning control."

"And?" Julian asked.

"You and your brother aren't exactly the picture of a loving sibling relationship."

"I don't suppose you'd believe me if I said I wanted to reconnect?"

Erica's eyebrows lifted, and she remained silent, an expectant look in her eyes.

Julian let out a huff of amusement. "Didn't think so," he muttered with a twist of his lips. Taking a moment to consider whether or not to be honest, he rather quickly decided that if Erica wanted to get involved in Derek's fight, he would do her the courtesy that Derek had not. He looked her dead in the eye and stated calmly: "You're going to fight, fine. Though I doubt you realise what that actually means. Because you seem to think that in a couple of weeks you will be able to fight better than people who have been killing werewolves all their lives. I'm not joining Derek's suicide mission, nor am I helping you because I think you have even a remote chance of winning," he said. "I'm helping you because Derek is my brother, and the least I can do is make sure that the Hale pack lasts more than two minutes in their dramatic last stand against the Argents." _And maybe you'll realise what you've gotten yourselves involved in before it gets you killed._

Erica didn't flinch. Julian could hear her heartrate speed up slightly as he spoke though, and he could see the flash of discomfort in her expression before the false confidence settled back into place as she gave him a pout. "I think you're being a little bit unfair with your odds, there."

"Really? I thought I was being quite generous," Julian said conversationally. He wasn't trying to be mean. He was simply stating facts. And if she wanted to ignore them, that was fine. But at least he could say that he told her what Derek had refused to. "Allison, Scott, Stiles and I took care of you two," he reminded her. "Gerard and the others won't have much trouble."

The sound of a sharp intake of breath caused them to halt in their conversation, heads turning to identify the potential threat. At the table on the opposite side of the library, Jackson was sitting hunched over in his seat with his hand pressed to his temple. It was obvious that Jackson's gasp of pain wasn't feigned. The waves of pain rolling off of him were impossible to miss. As was the sheen of sweat on his pale face and the sound of his racing heart.

Julian couldn't help but feel that, given what had happened earlier, that was cause for concern. If Jackson turned in the library, they had a serious problem on their hands.

 _The kanima went after Stiles because he saw it,_ he reminded himself. _The master wouldn't have him turn in front of people. It triggered the fog machine at the club, and while Gerard has made some 'improvements', that's not likely to be one of them._

 _Or it might just kill everyone here. There's no witnesses then either._

Sighing at his own pessimism- or realism as he preferred to think of it, Julian forced himself to work through the logic of it all.

 _Not now. All of the other kills were at night. He wouldn't break the pattern now. It's like earlier. He won't attack if we don't interfere. We provoked him earlier and he attacked, and that wasn't him. It was whoever was controlling him. It didn't kill us at the pool or the club and it didn't kill us in the bathroom. We're not murderers yet. It couldn't kill us before, that can't have changed now._

 _Worry about it if he attacks._

 _Maybe then he'll believe Scott and Stiles._

Next to Julian, Erica tensed up and her eyes glowed faintly, her nails elongating. Whether she'd figured it out on her own or Derek had told her, she was ready for a fight. A fight she wasn't going to win. Julian set a hand on hers to stop her and shook his head slightly. _Not now. At least not yet._

She glowered at him and slowly lowered herself back into her seat, though she remained poised to fight if Jackson became an immediate threat. Julian was doing the same; the balls of his feet bouncing on the ground and his eyes scanning the environment looking for possible escape routes and improvised weapons. Jackson could shrug off a kick to the face. Hopefully a copier would slow him down a little longer.

Julian's gaze flicked over to where Scott and Stiles were seated. Scott was wearing a concerned expression and his body was tensed in preparation to go help. Stiles seemed to notice his friend's nervousness and he stared at Jackson uncertainly, his fingers drumming rapidly against the desk.

Jackson stumbled out of his seat and towards the exit. "I have to got to the bathroom," he muttered quickly, looking to the unaware as though he were simply about to vomit all over the floor.

As he fumbled frantically with the doorknob, Jackson's pale, ill form finally caught Mr. Harris' attention. "Are you alright?" the teacher asked. There was a concern in his voice that was not present when he spoke to other students. Maybe because usually when someone said they had to go to the bathroom, it was Stiles wearing a phony sick look or because Mr. Harris was kind of a dick who didn't like most of his students. "Hey, you don't look so good."

Shaking his head and forcing the door open, Jackson groaned out something about just needing some water.

Seemingly torn between going after Jackson and monitoring the group in the library, Mr. Harris waited for several seconds before he chose the school's donors over its students. "No one leaves their seats," he ordered, hurrying out after Jackson.

The library door hadn't even had time to fully close before Scott and Stiles raced over and hurried into the empty seats across from Erica and Julian.

Scott had taken the seat opposite Julian. "Stiles says you know how Jackson's parents died," he said, questioningly.

Leaning back casually, Erica studied her nails disinterestedly. "Maybe."

"Talk."

While she didn't entirely abandon her nonchalant demeanour, it quickly became clear that Erica was just as curious as the rest of them.

"It was a car accident," she revealed after milking a pause longer than Julian felt was really necessary. "My dad was the insurance investigator, and every time he sees Jackson drive by in his Porsche, he makes some comment about the huge settlement he'll be getting when he's eighteen."

Upon hearing the new information, Stiles began glowering at the door Jackson had walked out through. "So not only is Jackson rich now but he's getting even richer at eighteen?"

"Yep."

"There's something so deeply wrong with that."

Erica flipped open her laptop. "You know what, I could try to find the insurance report in my dad's inbox. He keeps everything," she said, her eyes free of the usual smugness that she wrapped herself in.

"Maybe there'll be something in the files," Stiles said eagerly, the chance of a new lead making him happier than he'd been all day.

Scott shuffled his feet, Julian kept drawing, and Stiles rapidly drummed his fingers against the table as the three of them waited for Erica to find the document in question on her dad's old laptop. As time passed, the speed of Stiles' drumming increased ever more. Five minutes later and Erica was smiling.

"Found it," she said.

Julian was switching spots with Stiles, who had been trying to see the screen by leaning over the table and reading upside down, when an announcement came over the intercom.

"Scott McCall please report to the principal's office." The tinny voice in of the announcement didn't make the message any less threatening or worrying. If anything, the flat voice made the message all the worse.

As Scott reluctantly got to his feet, Stiles and Julian shot him less than reassuring smiles and an inspiring send off.

"Don't worry, with the cameras he can't kill you at school," Stiles offered.

"They run the cameras," Julian argued before realising what he'd just said. "I don't think he's going to kill us yet. Probably wants to manipulate us into doing something first," he said, intending for the latter to be a reassurance only to have it come out as another thing to worry about.

"Or maybe he's decided that it's better to just get this over with. Take care of the evidence," Stiles said, mulling the thought over in his head.

Scott nervously rolled his eyes and shot them fond but exasperated looks before biting his lip and walking slowly towards the door, nerves streaming off of him as he walked towards the office. Towards Gerard.

 _He'll be fine,_ Julian attempted to reassure himself as his stomach twisted and a familiar cloud of dread hovered at the edges of his thoughts.

 _He wants to kill us._

 _Manipulate us into doing what he wants, then kill us._

Refusing to let the cloud in, Julian decided to focus on something else. Anything else. Anything to keep the familiar storm at bay. _'Follow the lighthouse through the storm,'_ Laura used to say. _'Find the thing that lets you see through the fog.'_ Turning his attention away from Stiles and Erica going into detective mode (Stiles was better equipped than he was to notice anything out of the ordinary with the report anyways) Julian grabbed his pencil and returned to his drawing, adding in sharp cheekbones and a slightly crooked smile that he knew like the back of his hand.

Tuning out the rest of the world, Julian focused on the familiar motions, the familiar face on the paper in front of him.

By the time he'd calmed himself, the fog retreating from his mind, he was just drawing again. Sitting in class with his friends, smiling as someone turned the pottery wheel on without securing the clay to it and sent the half-formed bowl flying across the room. Lying on the floor of the kitchen as his mother made spaghetti, his father asking about pack boundaries, blue eyes sparkling in the warm yellow light. He'd been drawing. The art box he and Cora had shared lying next to him. The crayons were missing half of their wrappers; the purple and green ones barely more than stubs by the time he finished the garden outside their house. His father had bought him a pencil crayons for his birthday later that year, and as time passed the fridge was soon covered in sketches of their family members and the forest around them. A full moon in a navy coloured sky. Possibly inspired by the print that hung in Julian's room when he was six.

His father had always loved Van Gogh. He used to hum _Starry Starry Night_ to himself and eventually get the tune stuck in his pack's head. Julian had inherited the admiration for the artist. He had like Monet as well, but hadn't connected with the man's story or art in the same way. He'd written most of his essays on Van Gogh, and for his last project, he'd used _The Church at Auvers._ Laura hadn't ever really understood it, but she'd smiled and given her younger brother a pack of M&Ms when he started crying at the end of _Vincent and the Doctor_ during their yearly Doctor Who marathon.

It was a reminder of a time when their family was still alive and his father was still human.

A man of vision rather than a monster.

Smiling sadly to himself, Julian continued to draw, briefly free of the crushing worry that Jackson presented and wrapped up in the memory of his sister and mother. The pain of Laura's death still hurt as opposed to the quiet ache of loss that accompanied the memories of Talia, but it wasn't the crushing pain it had been. Fading so that the happiness made the loss bearable.

Soon Mr. Harris had returned to the library with Jackson filing in behind him on unsteady legs, looking pale and shaky. Much to Julian's relief, he was still human though. He exchanged a quick, knowing glance with Stiles and Erica, who furtively positioned themselves in front of the screen without really noticing.

Jackson looked like himself though. The odd behaviour from the locker room wasn't there _._ That was a good sign.

Julian was beginning to think that his bar for 'good' was lowering exponentially with every day that passed since he'd come back home.

He had finished most of Laura's face and was working on her eyes when Scott returned looking skittish and uneasy.

"What did he say?" Julian asked, carefully shading Laura's eyes to the familiar foggy grey with his pencil. The familiar glint her eye was hard to translate onto the paper but he was happy with the outcome.

"What?!" Scott asked, his eyes darting over to Julian. His foot was rapidly tapping against the leg of the table, causing it to shake in time with every beat. "No, it wasn't Gerard…" he said with a gulp.

"Was it Voldemort?" Julian asked with a faint smile, hoping the joke would calm him down.

"No. It was V- Allison's mother -She…" Scott's dark eyes turned horrified and he tried to supress a shiver. "She had pencils…" he whispered half to himself.

"Alright…" Julian said uncertainly.

Before he could press Scott on what was bothering him, Stiles jabbed an excited finger at Erica's screen. "Wait! Look at the dates," he exclaimed. The lanky teen was practically standing as he eagerly looked to Scott and Julian with an expectant expression. Julian wondered if in all of his excitement that he'd forgotten that werewolf abilities didn't extend to x-ray vision and being able to see things that were facing the other way.

"Passengers arrived at the hospital DOA. The estimated time of death; 9:26pm, June 14th, 1995." Erica seemed to have realised that the others couldn't read the screen.

"Jackson's birthday is June 15th," Stiles explained, his expectant look turning triumphant as the others realised the weight of his words.

There was a pause as the four of them mulled over the words, considering the new information and new angle.

"So either he was taken out by C-section or the hospital put down the wrong birthday," Julian said, receiving a couple of raised eyebrows. "What? It happens. One of my cousins was legally a day younger than he actually was. Always go with the human explanation first, then worry about the supernatural." A philosophy that worked a lot better in Kansas than in Beacon Hills, he remembered after he had spoken.

"Seeing how he changes into a giant lizard monster, I'm going to guess that being pulled out of his mother's dead body is more likely than a paper error," Stiles replied. "And if they were murdered… The report says that it was all inconclusive."

Smiling tightly, Julian scowled. "With my experience with Beacon Hills' insurance investigations, it wouldn't be surprising if 'inconclusive' means 'murdered and we were paid off.'"

"Do you think that's why he-" Scott caught himself before he said kanima in front of Erica, who smirked.

"She knows," Stiles informed him with a faintly chagrined look.

Perhaps Derek hadn't told her after all. Julian wasn't quite sure what to make of that. He still wasn't entirely convinced that Derek wasn't just waiting for them to give up on saving Jackson so he could go in and kill them, yet he'd given Julian the time he'd asked for.

"No," Erica said sarcastically. "I still think you're asking me questions about his parent's death because… Is there a plausible lie for that?" she asked curiously, twirling a sarcastic finger in the air.

Opening and closing his mouth several times, it quickly became clear that Stiles could not think of a plausible lie. At least not before Mr. Harris began to pack up, prompting them to start packing up their things. Julian slowly closed the book, replacing Laura's smiling face with the cover of his book only to stop when he heard a laugh.

Mr. Harris walked over to two carts crammed with returned books that the librarian had yet to re-shelve. "Oh, no, I'm sorry…" he said with a smile that contradicted his words. "Yes, I am leaving, but none of you are."

Julian could smell the delight radiating off of Mr. Harris in waves. Sure, none of them were exactly his favourite students, but this felt excessive. And he was pretty sure it wasn't legal for him to leave them there without supervision. Not that he was going to point that out. He'd probably just make the janitor check in on them while they washed the windows and resorted the other returns.

"You may go when you're done with the re-shelving," the teacher said, patting the carts in front of him. "Enjoy the rest of your evening."

* * *

"I hate him," Erica muttered for the seventh time, forcibly shoving a book into place.

Nodding in agreement for the fourth time, Julian searched for the 'Tr' section of the shelf. "At least he doesn't turn into a lizard monster," he said.

She snorted. "Wouldn't surprise me. He looks like a vampire, and he certainly enjoys sucking the life out of everyone."

"Vampires aren't real," Julian said automatically.

"Of course not. That would be ridiculous."

Julian almost missed the sarcasm. "I keep forgetting that you're all new to this," he admitted. "How have you… been doing?"

"Well your darling brother is absolutely no fun," Erica commented with a pout. She abandoned the attempt at being casual though and answered bluntly. "He's got us running drills trying to attack him. So far I've had my arm broken six times and I've bruised more places than I thought were possible."

Brow furrowing at the mention of Derek's 'teaching' methods, Julian shot her an almost concerned look. "He shouldn't have hurt you guys. Teaching someone to defend themselves doesn't mean hurting them."

"If you're that worried, then why don't you join up?" Erica offered, her expression turning into a playful grin. "We have plenty of fun."

"Four people stuck in a railway depot all day running drills. How appealing," Julian replied, the faint smile taking the edge out of his sarcasm.

"Better than the way things were before," Erica responded darkly.

Remembering Derek mentioning Erica's seizures, Julian tilted his head to show that he understood the point. He did. The idea of all your pain and problems being solved by a bite… He could understand why she'd chosen this. He didn't think she knew what she'd gotten into, but he supposed that was as much Derek's fault as hers. Perhaps mostly Derek's. While he may have intended on offering her a gift in exchange for protection, he had offered vulnerable people a way out. A solution. And Julian knew all to well how much people were willing to give up for a solution to their problems. And he wasn't sure Derek would understand that. How desperate people were for a way out. Derek had always fought through it all. He attacked his problems. He beat them into submission. He didn't know just how much people would give up to make pain go away. Then Julian remembered after the fire, and wondered if maybe Derek did know what that was like after all.

Shelving the book in the appropriate place with a frown on his face, Julian was reminded of the promise he'd made his brother. And the betas he'd recruited to his pack. "Do you mind walking with me to the depot?" Julian asked Erica. "My sense of direction is next to nonexistent."

Erica gave him a slight nod, briefly appearing as a human with feelings. Someone who really was worried that she might lose control. Hurt someone. Be useless to Derek when he needed his pack most. Then she reverted back to her usual attitude and returned to cursing their chemistry teacher.

Smiling at the very creative barrage pouring out of Erica's mouth, Julian went to grab some more books off of the cart only to nearly crash into a frantic Scott.

"I have to tell him!" Scott exclaimed.

"Wait, what?" Julian asked, startled.

"The truth!" Scott said, hurrying past Julian only to freeze in his tracks as he came level with the aisle Jackson and Matt had been working in.

There were a pair of legs lying on the ground, the feet sticking out from behind the shelf like something out of a horror movie.

Julian extended his hearing, desperately hoping for a heartbeat. He couldn't smell blood but… There it was. _He's just paralyzed. He'll live._

The relief that Matt wasn't dead soon evaporated.

 _It's here,_ Julian realised with a dawning sense of horror, taking a step back into a fighting stance as he searched for the kanima. The fog of dread had been replaced by a sense of panic.

 _It can't kill us,_ he told himself.

 _But it can definitely hurt us._

He tried to swallow but his mouth had gone totally dry. Trying to take in a calming breath, Julian twitched as he thought he heard something at the edge of the library.

Scott meanwhile came to his senses and immediately raced towards Matt's prone form. As he crouched down next to him _something_ leapt over their heads, shattering the lights overhead and bringing pieces of debris from the ceiling down onto the floor below.

Reflexively ducking his head and covering it with his arms, Julian felt his eyes change and his vision sharpen as the fear caused him to involuntarily begin to shift. Something that he hadn't done for years. Shaking it off as a problem for later, he heard Erica's roar of fear and turned in time to see Jackson shoving Scott at him.

The two betas collided and stumbled back into the book cart, toppling it and slamming into the floor as Jackson leapt away again.

Cursing in pain as his mostly healed wrist hit the ground, Julian stayed down for several seconds momentarily dazed. Blinking several times, he found his breath and was suddenly conscious of the heavy weight on his legs where a downed Scott had crashed into him. Wincing as a dull ache spread through his back and legs from where he'd collided with the cart, Julian clasped his arm to his chest and rolled over, managing to free his lower body from Scott. Staying in a crouch, Julian desperately searched for the kanima; poised to defend himself and a still recovering Scott if it came at them again.

The sound of Jackson slowly stalking towards them through the library caused Julian's heartrate to spike even higher and he could see a familiar red haze beginning to blur at the edges of his vision. _Not now. Not now,_ he thought to himself, anxiously staring at the shelves where the noise was coming from. His breaths were too shallow and his nails were digging into his palms, the nails cutting into the skin and digging through the bandages.

He started at the sudden grip on his shoulder, nearly punching Scott in the face before he realised who it was and stopped the strike, his hand hovering in between the two of them as he stared at Scott with wide yellow eyes. Reflexively going to apologise, Julian tried to speak but the words wouldn't come out. Scott didn't seem to notice, to preoccupied with dragging Julian over to the shelf where Stiles and Allison were hiding. Scott crouched defensively in front of the three of them, checking to make sure they were all uninjured before turning his attention to where his friend's horrified gazes led.

Jackson was standing at a chalkboard; the cold, slitted reptilian eyes and dark scales removing most traces of his humanity even half-transformed as he was. There were scales crawling up the side of his face and body and claws dripping venom onto the carpet. That wasn't the most unnerving part of it though. The worst was his posture, the unnatural lolling of his head as his unseeing eyes rolled around.

His arm shot out, perfectly straight and he began to write with jerky, unsettling movements.

It was like watching an inexperienced puppeteer trying to make a puppet move. The motions were wrong. Too uneven and jarring to ever be considered natural. The letters were just as off; shaky and stiff as opposed to the perfect script Jackson usually used on the board.

Deciding not to focus on whatever threat was going to end up written on the board, Julian forced himself to take advantage of Jackson being preoccupied with the board and slowly edged forwards and to the left, ignoring Scott's nervous gesturing and Allison's confused expression. His heart was somewhere in the back of his throat and his palms were clammy, clenched into fists as he crept forwards on legs that felt like they weighed nothing and his brain was screaming at him to just _stop._

He couldn't though.

He could hear her breath coming in uneven, desperate gasps. Derek had said she got seizures…

He couldn't leave her lying there.

 _Alone. Can't breathe. They're right there. A few feet never felt so far away..._

Keeping in a crouch, he sidled along the shelf and backed into the next aisle where Erica lay. Jackson didn't seem too concerned about attacking them at the moment, and provided that he didn't get too close, Julian was hoping that he'd focus on writing and that Erica was just panicking rather than having an epileptic fit.

Turning into the aisle, Julian saw Erica lying on the ground; her body rigid and twitching erratically on the floor, her breaths coming in shallow gasps.

 _Shit._

Abandoning his attempt at stealth, Julian stood and forced himself back to the memory of first aid training last summer.

 _Is the area safe for you to enter?_

 _Is it safe for the person?_

 _No fire, no wire, no gas or glass._

First aid training for camp counsellors hadn't exactly covered kanimas.

 _Focus. Do what you can._

Kicking several books away from Erica, Julian carefully moved the largest of the broken glass from the lights above them and tried to scrape the rest away from her. Remembering the lighting, Julian quickly checked that the broken lights and the sparking wires weren't in danger of falling on them or catching them, and then turned his attention back to Erica.

Protocol for seizures was to call an ambulance and not to touch the person in the mean time; lifting them or holding them down could seriously injure them, and given Erica's elongated claws and intermittently glowing eyes, she might hurt one of them too.

The distant sound of shattering glass told him that Jackson had gone out the window. Apparently trashing the library and writing threats on the board had been enough.

Stiles was the first to rush over.

Eyes going wide with alarm, Stiles went to help her before stopping himself, seeming to have remembered basic first aid. "What do we do?" he asked.

Julian hesitated for a moment, then his brain finally kicked in. "I need to call Deaton," he said, grabbing his phone out of his pocket.

"Derek… N-N-Need… Derek," Erica managed.

"You need an ambulance," Stiles corrected.

"This isn't anything they can help," Julian responded worriedly, listening to the phone ringing in his ear. "We need to get her to the clinic or to my brother."

"I think the hospital-" Scott started.

"They can't help her," Julian repeated with no room in his tone for further argument. "It's the kanima venom, not a normal seizure. With her medical records they'll assume she needs medication or something… It won't help."

"To Derek… Derek…" Erica muttered, her body convulsing.

"That's not good," Stiles muttered, shooting Julian an anxious look.

Julian grit his teeth. "We're not supposed to move her…" he muttered mostly to himself.

"Well we can't exactly leave her here for the Argents to find," Stiles pointed out.

"We need to get her to a car. Derek is the closest." Hopefully she'd heal from any injuries during transport. They were out of options and carrying her was the only way to get her to anyone who could help.

"We'll take the Jeep," Stiles said, rummaging for his keys.

"Erica, we have to move you. I'm sorry…" Julian said, hesitantly raising her head and shoulders off the ground, wincing as his arm flared in pain. "Scott, I need your help," he called over to where Scott was crouched with Allison next to an unconscious Matt. He couldn't take Erica on his own, not with an injured hand, and Stiles wouldn't be able to take her with the way her legs were moving.

Scott was crouched by the bookshelf talking to Allison who was checking on Matt. There was a torn expression on his face as he glanced between Stiles, Julian and Erica, and Allison and Matt. "This doesn't feel right," he said.

"It's okay," Allison insisted, gesturing for him to leave and giving him a shaky smile.

"It's not. It's not right."

"It doesn't… It doesn't mean anything."

"But if feels like it does."

"Oh for fuck's sake. Scott, I need you to pick her up!" Julian snapped.

 _That_ got Scott's attention.

"Scott, go," Allison said, leaving no room in her voice for argument. "I've got Matt."

Scott tore himself away from his girlfriend to find an aggravated Julian and thrashing Erica in the next aisle over.

"Sorry," Scott murmured as he heaved Erica up.

Julian nodded shortly and the two of them rushed her towards the Jeep.

"We're going to take you to Derek," Julian reassured the blonde.

Her fear-filled eyes flickered in relief before she convulsed again. "D-Derek..." she stuttered out. "To Derek."

* * *

Stiles was no better a driver now than he had been the last time they'd seen the kanima, and his Jeep's nonexistent suspension meant that every little bump sent the three occupants of the backseat crashing into one another.

Erica was still seizing; lying on the back seat. Scott and Julian were trying to keep her from falling on the floor while not restraining her, which was proving difficult and nerve-wracking.

"It's been five minutes," Julian told Deaton, wincing as his arm slammed into the side of the car thanks to Stiles taking a sharp turn. He nearly dropped the phone. "It's not passing."

"Alright," Deaton responded, voice distant through the phone. "You're going to have to trigger the healing process beyond a cut," he added seriously. There was reluctance in his tone. Neither of them had wanted it to come to this.

Nodding, Julian took a breath to steady himself. "Erica, this is going to hurt but…" Julian shut his eyes and grabbed Erica's still shaking arm, bracing himself against the roof of the car, setting his foot on her elbow.

The car swerved slightly as Stiles turned to look at the backseat. "What are you doing?!"

"Triggering the healing process," Scott realised, his tone uncomfortable.

Julian shut his eyes and pushed down with his foot.

Erica howled in pain as her elbow let out a series of pops followed by a loud _crack,_ nearly drowned out by her screams.

"I'm sorry," Julian repeated softly, removing his foot and staring guiltily at Erica as she let out quiet cries of pain. Then he returned the phone to his ear. "She's still shaking… I don't…"

"Just breathe," Deaton said. "The injury should trigger the healing process. Derek can take the venom out, but it needs to be him. Only an Alpha can do it," Deaton explained. "Just try to keep her conscious until you get to Derek and ensure that she's still healing. It won't help much, but it will lessen the venom in her system."

"Okay," Julian responded, anxiously looking out the window. He recognised this part of town. The older downtown area that had been home to several larger more industrial buildings set behind the shops. The depot was only a few minutes away now. They were almost there.

"Julian, it will be fine," Deaton said in his ever calm tone.

After the phone went dead, Julian shoved it back into his pocket and returned his attention to Erica. Her eyes were a dull gold colour and her face was covered in sweat, plastering her hair to her face as she let out whimpers of pain. The seizure was draining the life out of her, and her pained gaze was beginning to be overwhelmed by pain and defeat.

"Stiles, hurry up," Scott said urgently, staring into the helpless beta's eyes.

"I am!" Stiles responded, shooting a glance back at the two of them. "But it's not going to help her much if we're all dead."

Brow furrowing, Scott sent a concerned look at Julian.

The dark haired teen didn't notice though, too preoccupied with the nasty purpling of Erica's arm and the pain in her eyes. The pain he'd caused her when he brought his foot down until he heard the bone give. The sickening sound of her arm popping and breaking as she screamed in agony because of what he'd done.

 _It means she's healing,_ he told himself.

 _It means you broke her arm._

 _There weren't any other options._

 _Not any that didn't cause her more pain?_

Looking out the window once again, Julian couldn't shake the memory of the red haze at the edge of his vision. It was the stress, he supposed. The looming threat of Gerard hanging over his head. And now the haze that he'd barely managed to get rid of last time. He didn't need something else to worry about. Not now.

Shaking his head, Julian took in a deep breath and glanced out the window yet again. They were almost there.

The whine Erica let out brought his attention back to her weak form. The worst of the thrashing had subsided but she was still shaking violently, looking at them with helpless eyes.

Scott grabbed her hand and gave her a smile. "It's fine," he told her. "Derek can help," he repeated.

Looking at Erica's convulsing body and into her helpless eyes, Julian sincerely hoped that he was right.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: And I was late updating... Sorry. Again. I'm hoping to get the rave chapter up soon (I have a _plan..._ ) but I'm super busy right now so updates might be a bit uneven for a while. So apologies in advance. **

* * *

The first ten minutes of the car ride had been spent in total silence.

Derek was driving, his sharp eyes never straying from the road save for the occasional glance in the rear view mirror.

 _Checking on his new beta,_ Julian thought with a scowl.

He wasn't quite sure why he was so mad that Scott had gone to Derek. Had joined his pack.

Scott tended to do the right thing, and he seemed to have made a decision that was thought-through and rational, and yet it still stung. While Julian did want to improve his relationship with his brother, he knew what Derek had gotten involved in, and he didn't want to see Scott get dragged into it.

On the bright side, at least Scott joining had forced Derek to agree to do things the Scott way.

 _Wonder who's really the Alpha then,_ Julian considered, his scowl lessening briefly before he remembered that Derek was not one to take orders. Nor was he likely to change his mind just because Scott agreed to join his Idiot Squad.

 _Just waiting for us to give up and agree with him._

He supposed that was one way to win an argument. One that worked out well for Derek, because even if he wasn't all that patient, Derek was stubborn and hard-headed even compared to Julian. The Hale temperament was something Derek had gotten in excess. Then again, Scott had the kind of determination and drive that might end up posing a challenge to Derek's efforts.

There was, of course, a chance that Derek was genuinely looking for a good influence and really did want to go with Scott's idea. To seize the chance to help Jackson and solve a problem that he himself had created non-violently, not putting more blood on his hands. Julian knew his brother better than that though.

To Derek's credit, he'd handled the situation with Erica better than Julian had been expecting. Not only had he managed to draw out the poison, Derek had also been self-aware enough to realise that her injury was, in part, his fault, and that the kanima wasn't something he could beat on his own. It was something that threatened him, and with the option to beat or kill it taken, Derek had been forced to agree with Scott's plan. Grudgingly. While making passive aggressive comments about how Jackson was a murderer.

 _'And whose fault is that again?'_ Julian had asked.

Derek had shut up after that.

They'd stayed at the depot for about three hours after Erica's seizure had subsided. She was well enough to sit and eat, but it wasn't hard to see just how drained and shaken she was. In fairness, in addition to the trauma the seizure itself had caused, she'd thought that her seizures were cured with the bite. Having one in that situations… She was doing better than most people would've.

Boyd was with her now. He'd run across town to grab her some chicken noodle soup, and had spent the next hour sitting with her in the broken down subway car making sure that she was okay. She'd protested at first, feigning that she was feeling fine, before relaxing and accepting Boyd's concern and ministrations with a semblance of grace.

When he wasn't checking in on Erica, Scott had been trying to contact Allison through Stiles (unsuccessfully) and pacing back and forth through the depot as he thought of a plan to take care of Jackson.

Julian had sat (he had not been _sulking_ as Derek had accused, and he had been staring at the _wall_ not Scott) on a stool with Laura's laptop on his lap, wondering just how much Laura had managed to scan into her laptop before they'd left Beacon Hills behind. He'd spent three hours trying to get through everything before he'd found something even resembling a kanima. And by that point, Derek had finally decided that Erica wasn't liable to keel over when he was gone, and had been heading for the car to the veterinary clinic.

Deaton had found nothing to stop the kanima so far, but Julian didn't want to pop Scott's bubble. Nor did he want to prompt Derek into the 'well let's just kill him' mode that he and Stiles were stuck in.

So there he sat in the back of Derek's Camaro; Isaac in front of him with a lazy demeanour that he seemed to think was covering up the relief and concern radiating off of him, and Scott next to him in the back, staring out the window with a thoughtful expression.

"It's the next left," Scott informed Derek, breaking the silence for the first time since Isaac's unsuccessful, 'So you guys are brothers, huh?'.

Derek didn't say a word, just took the turn and pulled up against the back of the clinic and stopped the car slightly harder than was probably necessary. For a moment, nobody moved.

"I'm gonna go in," Scott said, hesitating with his hand on the door handle of the car. "You guys might want to wait a minute, Deaton…"

"Doesn't like you," Julian summarised bluntly.

Scott winced slightly but didn't argue the point as he got out of the car and headed into the clinic.

"So this Deaton guy's what? A witch?" Isaac asked, turning his body so that he was facing the backseat.

"He's a vet," Julian replied shortly, turning away from Scott's retreating form. Then he remembered how annoying beating around the bush actually was. Rolling his eyes to himself, he did his best to keep up a- if not friendly- not entirely hostile tone and expression. "He's a former emissary. They're advisors for the pack," he explained. "Sort of like guides to help the leaders. They try not to get involved with personal matters and they've got their own system, but it's different for each pack."

Derek's breath halted and the smell of confusion and realisation spread through the car. "He worked with mom," he said softly.

"Yeah," Julian said with a nod. Emissaries were often kept separate form the members of the pack other than the Alpha and a select few. There were some packs that treated their emissary like family, but for the most part they chose to stand apart in a hope to remain more impartial. Talia had introduced Laura and Deaton, knowing that her daughter would eventually take her place and wanting her to be ready for the responsibility. Julian had met the vet for the first time after the fire. When the wall had come down it had pinned him, trapped him near the flames, and while he'd been lucky by all accounts, he'd had severe burns along his right side that were healing too quickly for him to be taken to a hospital. Deaton had visited him daily for a couple of weeks before they'd left town, and he and Laura had kept in touch with the man ever since.

Derek had never been told about Deaton though. He'd been withdrawn after the fire and had spent most of the time burying the family and had spent the days Deaton visited sitting next to Peter's bedside hoping that he was healing like Julian had been. Even after Derek had returned, he obviously hadn't known that Deaton was the man who had delivered him or the man who had been by their mother's side even after he retired.

Julian couldn't help but wonder what Derek had done for guilt to be hidden within the surprise.

"Let's go," Derek ordered abruptly, stiffly marching out of the car and towards the door.

Isaac and Julian rolled their eyes at time in a brief moment of solidarity before they followed Derek into the clinic.

As the three of them entered, Julian caught sight of Scott's vaguely annoyed expression. _Better get used to that if you're joining Derek's pack,_ he thought more bitterly than he was comfortable with.

"I told you guys to wait in the car," Scott said, sounding genuinely betrayed but not at all surprised that Derek had ignored him. _Maybe he's got this figured out more than you thought._

Unconcerned, Derek tried to peer around Scott. "Where's the vet? Is he gonna help us or not?" he demanded.

"That depends," Deaton was leaning against the door frame. His tone was quiet and calm, just like always, but now there was something else… Not quite annoyance or condescension… _Disappointment,_ Julian realised. Deaton had known Talia and Laura. Known that they were true leaders. Derek had a lot to live up to, and so far... He was doing less than spectacularly. Not that Julian could've done any better, or even half as well. Staring at his brother's rigid posture, Julian couldn't help but be reminded of how Derek had idolized their mother. He knew what he had to live up to, and it couldn't be easy having that weight added to the pile he was struggling under.

Deaton's dark eyes remained on Derek, analysing and judging him in a subtle but not invisible manner. Scott had clearly noticed it as well, though Derek remained oblivious.

Deaton raised his eyebrows. "Your friend, Jackson, are we planning to kill him or save him?"

"Save him," Scott declared as Derek stated, "Kill him."

Julian rolled his eyes.

Glaring at his new Alpha, "Save. Him." Scott corrected.

For a few seconds Derek stared skywards, no doubt reminding himself of his deal with Scott, before he came back down to earth and gave one nod of grudging agreement. Scott turned back to Deaton, who was smiling faintly. "Save him."

Deaton pushed the mountain ash barrier open and retreated to the examination room in the back. "Then let's get started."

* * *

The examination room had one large light overtop of the table, meaning that other than the x-ray chart dimly lighting up in the background, there was only one light source in the whole clinic. Deaton had been forced to move it up since the uncovered lightbulb was at perfect height to blind Derek and Isaac.

"I don't suppose you've found anything in those files?" Deaton asked Julian, looking at the numerous bottles on his shelf for anything useful.

Seated on the floor with the laptop out, Julian frowned. "Maybe…" he murmured, scanning the page in front of him. "I can't read all of this… Way above my level," he admitted sourly. "I'm not sure…" he trailed off. It would've been easier if he had help. But no one else could read the Gaelic sections; Derek had taken Spanish and had some proficiency in French and Deaton spoke just about every language but Gaelic; including Irish (which wasn't the same thing) French, Cantonese, Portuguese, German, and some sign language.

"Any information would be useful." Deaton let out a soft sigh and trailed his fingers over the caps. "Unfortunately, I don't see anything here that's going to be an effective defense against a paralytic toxin," he added.

Derek leaned forwards. "We're open to suggestions," he said. The initial hostility that has been in his voice when Scott suggested talking to his voice was gone. Derek may not have known Deaton personally, but he knew how valuable emissaries were, and he knew that Talia had trusted the man.

Lacking patience with the current line of inquiry, Isaac interjected. "What about an effective offense?"

Derek shook his head. "We already tried," he reminded his beta before turning to Deaton. "I nearly took its head off. And Argent emptied an entire clip into it. The thing just gets back up."

"Not for lack of trying," Julian muttered mostly to himself.

Deaton was unsurprised but frowned thoughtfully to himself all the same. "Has it shown _any_ weaknesses?" he asked, searching for a piece of information that could be used. That would give them a chance.

"One. It can't swim." Derek's tone told everyone how helpful he thought that piece of information was.

"Does that go for Jackson as well?"

"No," Scott piped up. "He's the captain of the swim team," he elaborated.

"The water doesn't hurt it," Julian added. "It stuck its hand in the pool. It wasn't hurt… It was like it was nervous to go in."

"I suppose that hoping that our new friend would have a Shyamalan-esque weakness was perhaps unreasonable," Deaton said in an attempt to lighten the mood. To distract them briefly and make them look at the situation anew.

Scott smiled and Isaac rolled his eyes (pretending that the rest of them hadn't seen his lips quirk upwards slightly). Derek just stared the vet down without so much as a twitch.

Julian narrowed his eyes at him. His brother had watched _Signs_ constantly when he was a kid (he and Cora had walked in once and had spent the next week taking shifts making sure that there weren't any aliens on the roof), so he'd obviously gotten the joke. Derek had once been the type of person to laugh at the 'interrupting sloth' joke. Apparently Alpha powers had killed his sense of humour.

That or their family burning to death. That might have had something to do with it.

Still, never smiling didn't seem like a healthy approach to grieving. Or life in general. Julian would hardly describe himself as a 'happy' or 'optimistic' person, but he knew what a joke was, and he could smile. He did smile. Sometimes.

Derek caught Julian's unimpressed gaze and immediately looked back to Deaton. "Do you have anything _helpful?"_ he asked, somewhat annoyed.

Deaton nodded and turned to the drawers, pulling out a coin. "Essentially, you're trying to catch two people," he said, holding up the token. From the angle Julian was at he couldn't see anything, but the others seemed interested. "A puppet, and a puppeteer. One killed the husband but the other had to take care of the wife. Do we know why?"

"I don't think Jackson could do it. His mother died pregnant too. She was maybe murdered," Scott said, pausing before finishing in a softer tone. "I think he couldn't let the same thing happen to someone else."

Isaac tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. "How do you know it's not part of the rules?" he questioned. "The kanima kills murderers. If Jackson kills the wife then the baby dies too."

Scott's brows furrowed. "Does that mean your father was a murderer?" he asked tentatively.

Isaac shrugged. "Wouldn't surprise me if he was," he stated plainly. The blunt response caused Scott to raise his eyebrows and a sympathetic look flicked across his face.

"But if the master is behind the murders, then wouldn't he have to know about the person they killed?" Julian asked. "They're probably not just picking random people until the kanima can kill someone."

"If whoever is controlling the kanima witnessed a murder that they feel has gone unpunished, that could explain why they've gone to such extreme methods," Deaton mused thoughtfully.

"It's like what happened with Peter all over again," Julian said darkly, prompting Derek to shift slightly. They hadn't really addressed the whole 'him killing Peter' thing. Not that Julian had a problem with it, but Derek had killed their uncle. It seemed like the sort of thing they were eventually going to have to talk about. "Except this time no one knows what they have in common," he finished.

Scott straightened up and stared intently at the token in front of him. "Stiles called a little while ago. He said that none of the victims have a criminal record but they were all in the same year," he started hesitantly. "If they all knew each other…" he trailed off, looking to the others expectantly.

"They could've been involved in something that the master is trying to avenge," Julian finished, nodding in agreement. "And he's using the bond or whatever he has with Jackson to get him to do it for him."

"Hold on," Deaton said, his eyes lighting up and his posture turning from confused to curious. "This bond… What if the fear of water isn't coming from Jackson but from the person controlling him?" he asked, a smile beginning to form as he came to a realisation.

"Allison said the mental link gets stronger over time," Julian pointed out. "Maybe they're starting to blur the lines."

"So Jackson is losing control to the master," Derek stated. "How does that help?"

"What if…" Deaton grabbed a small jar of black powder with an unfamiliar symbol on it. Two lines, the upper curved on one side. "Something that affects the kanima," he continued, pouring the powder into a circle around the token, "Also affects its master," he said.

Derek studied the circle, green eyes widening as he realised what the substance was, while Isaac remained unimpressed. "Meaning what?"

"Meaning we can catch them," Scott said, sharing a knowing smile with Deaton.

Julian reached out to poke at the circle only for the mountain ash to stop his finger in the air, a flicker of purple appearing in the air like some sort of force field.

"Both of them."

* * *

" _Naming the creature seems almost… ironic in that the… creature has no name. It… seeks no pack but instead… takes its name from another. From the stories we know that the kanima seeks… killers and yet the creature before us has… no concept of 'murder'. Its master…"_ It was hard enough reading the half-burned way-above-his-reading-level book on his own. With Stiles peering intently over his shoulder and impatiently tapping his fingers against the floor it was even harder.

"What's next?" Stiles asked, not seeming to have noticed the vaguely annoyed look on Julian's face.

With a sigh and an eye roll worthy of Derek, Julian continued. " _The first form cannot be killed by…"_ he squinted, trying to read the words through the ash. _"Means… Aconite proved to injure but it is no wolf… It is one of us yet not…"_ Julian stopped. He'd reached the end of the page before it dissolved into darkened cracks that he couldn't read.

"That's it?" Stiles said, disappointed.

Julian shrugged, figuring it was best not to take it personally. "There might be more later on but…"

"But of course it's not there. Because that would make things easy, and this is Beacon Hills."

Looking at Stiles exasperated face with a vaguely amused expression, Julian gestured at the screen. "Well we know that wolfsbane injures it but doesn't kill it," he said. "And if wolfsbane will hurt it then mountain ash should work."

"A warding against the supernatural," Stiles mumbled. There was something about his tone that gave Julian the impression that he was quoting something that he'd read.

"It's sort of like a force field," Julian explained, hoping to clarify the mixed messages that Stiles' online research had provided. He had to hand it to Stiles, he was dedicated. He knew more about the supernatural than most wolves did. Some of the stuff was new even to Julian, and he'd grown up with it. Julian had started sending Stiles any interesting bits of the English books he'd found as well, not wanting to have to translate anything that wasn't immediately important, and Stiles had delved into it.

"Like in _Star Wars,_ " Stiles said. "Not that those abominations can really count as _Star Wars,_ but…" Stiles scowled. "George Lucas," he cursed.

" _Indiana Jones_ was good," Julian said almost cautiously. This was the most time he and Stiles had really spent together without Scott around or one of them in mortal danger.

The van counted not just because of the kanima, but also because of Stiles' incessant sleep-talking increasing the likelihood of him getting strangled or having his throat ripped out with every passing hour.

Julian hadn't really liked Stiles all that much initially. He'd seemed mildly annoying and suspicious. And he'd called Julian Mini-Derek. Not that Stiles had really seemed to like him all that much either. The kanima had brought them to a sort of working companionship, but they weren't exactly friends. And now that the supernatural angle had been exhausted...

 _Talk about something they are interested in and you're interested in,_ Laura had always said.

"That's because of Harrison Ford," Stiles replied. "As well as-" he halted in the middle of the sentence, mouth hanging open and eyes wide, as Lydia Martin suddenly stopped breezing through the hallway to stop in front of them.

With Stiles and Julian sitting on the floor, the short redhead was actually towering over them as she surveyed the two of them with an unimpressed and slightly bored look.

Julian looked to Stiles only to find that he seemed to have stopped breathing.

"Is Allison done making out with her 'not-boyfriend' yet?" Lydia asked impatiently. "Or have they finally gotten around to their impending break-up?"

"I-Don't you- They're…" Stiles frantically spluttered out before he remembered that he was running out of air and had to breathe. Sucking in a desperate breath, Stiles went to speak again only to stare at Lydia and open and shut his mouth.

She was wearing a rather short dress, Julian supposed. That was probably it, he decided as he took in Stiles sudden lack of speech and slightly blotchy face.

"No," Julian answered.

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Some of us have a social timetable to keep to," she said, waving a dismissive hand. "If you see her, tell her I'm waiting," she said, not bothering to wait for an answer before swiftly turning on a pointed heel and striding off into the hallway.

"Bye Lydia," Stiles said softly once she was out of earshot. After Lydia faded from sight, he seemed to have regained some semblance of control back over his mouth. "She looks good. I mean she always looks good, but I mean considering…"

Julian went to roll his eyes but stopped partway through; remembering Laura's _'Be supportive and discuss their interests'_ mantra. The issue being that he didn't really care about Stiles non-existent love life or chances with Lydia Martin. At least he had a passing knowledge of _Star Wars._

Stiles seemed to have noted Julian's disinterest, or had decided that he didn't want to talk about his crush with someone he didn't know very well. "So they're still…" Stiles gestured at the room behind him. "Can you check? Or…"

Shaking his head, Julian held back a wince. "I really don't want to hear anything if they're not."

Stiles nodded in understanding and returned to tapping his fingers on his knee.

As if on cue, Scott came out of the classroom with a faintly dejected expression on his face. He slumped down next to Stiles and let out a sigh.

"Everything alright man?" Stiles asked, his babbling evaporating to be replaced by genuine concern and interest.

"She's going on a date with Matt tonight," Scott said flatly.

Julian blinked in surprise. Allison didn't seem like the kind of person to do that to Scott, and while it seemed like the two of them had been having some trouble with the whole 'her family wanting to kill him' thing and the situation with Jackson, they hadn't broken up to his knowledge.

Stiles' eyes were practically popping out of his skull and he scrambled onto his knees to face his friend. "Wait, what?!"

"No, it's not-" Scott started, then stopped. He took a second to collect his thoughts before he explained, Stiles staring at him with a horrified expression all the while. "She agreed to go with him by accident, and… It's good. It works out," he said, talking to himself rather than Julian or Stiles.

Studying Scott's unconvinced and vaguely worried face, "Is Matt on the lacrosse team?" Julian asked hesitantly. "Curly dark hair, wears a leather jacket?"

"Yeah, why?" Stiles asked. "Is it so we go kill him? Because there's a blind spot in the security cameras behind the building. All we have to do is wait for the bell and-" He mimed swinging a baseball bat. "The bat's in the car."

Julian ignored him and focused on Scott. While he appeared calm, the smell of distress and worry was intermingling with the heavy perfumes, sweat, and deodorant. "When we went to check on Jackson he started hitting on her," he said. "She was just trying to get him out of the area… Jackson was making weird noises and we were both freaking out a little. She wasn't really paying attention…"

"Exactly," Scott said, nodding emphatically, though his relief seemed short-lived. "And it works! This way, she'll be safe for the operation at the rave and her mother won't…" Scott's expression turned briefly horrified, and Julian was reminded of Scott's face at the library after returning from the office. Mrs. Argent had really done a number on him.

"See, it's fine," Stiles said, clapping Scott on the back. "Aside from, you know, the whole 'Jackson is a murderous monster' bit. Which we've got a plan for," he continued. "We do have a plan for that, right?" he asked in a lower tone.

Scott nodded, his confidence returning. "Yeah," he said. "We've got a plan. And we're going to need your help," he added. "The mountain ash… Deaton can't exactly come to the rave and since Allison's not coming…"

Stiles blanched. "Are you sure someone else can't do it?" he asked. "Because that's kind of, you know, the entire plan relying on me alone to work," he said nervously.

"We need you to create a barrier with the mountain ash," Julian stated. "It'll keep anything supernatural in the club, but we need a human to create it."

"Why don't we bring Allison?" Stiles asked. "Your girlfriend? The trained hunter? Who can handle herself under immense levels of pressure. I mean, she doesn't even _like_ Matt… and who would, the guy is a total creep, so we'd be _helping_ her by –"

"Allison's not coming," Scott interrupted uncharacteristically sharply.

"Come on, man, I know you two are kinda going through a bit of a rough patch but-"

"No," Scott repeated definitively. "We're going to keep her away from this. Where she'll be safe." The last part seemed like it was an excuse for something else, but no one pressed him on it.

"What about me?" Stiles asked. "We're basically brothers; don't I get to be safe?"

"Considering all you have to do is pour some powder around a building, you've pretty much got the safest job," Julian said rather unsympathetically.

"You could always try to drug the kanima," Scott suggested, grinning at his friend's obvious discomfort and the distraction from his relationship. "Which is what the rest of us are going to be doing."

Stiles looked between the two of them with a defeated expression on his face. "I don't really have a choice, do I?"

"You just have to pour mountain ash around the building," Scott reassured his friend. "It'll be fine. Jackson will be in with the rest of us."

"It's probably going to be easier than getting tickets anyway," Julian remarked. "I asked six people and they all said the concert is sold out."

"Actually, that won't be a problem," Scott said, procuring three tickets from his pocket, a chagrined look on his face.

"How did you get those?"

"Well, it wasn't exactly us," Scott said with a wince.

Julian raised an eyebrow and held back a smile. "Isaac?" he asked.

Scott nodded. "Isaac."

* * *

By the time they'd got to the veterinary clinic, Stiles was no more eager for his part in the operation than he'd been before. Julian couldn't blame him. The crushing weight of the responsibility was hard to bare.

He'd spent half an hour pacing back and forth through the clinic and asking repeatedly if everyone was _sure_ there was going to be enough mount ash to surround the building.

"There's four garbage bags of the stuff," Julian had pointed out.

Deaton had been kinder, reassuring Stiles that there was plenty, and that even if it wasn't enough that "You'd be surprised what pure force of will can accomplish." Stiles hadn't seemed too convinced.

"It worked for me," Scott had reminded him.

"There'll be enough," Julian had repeated.

It wasn't like they could get anymore if there wasn't. They'd raided Deaton's stash and had called in a favour from Melody and Satomi. It wasn't like they could just get mountain ash at the nearest Home Depot. And on short notice...

Four bags was going to have to be enough.

Stiles had left a couple of hours ago, leaving Deaton and Scott to attend to the animals and Julian to do his homework. Apparently the 'break' part of Spring Break meant little to most of them, who had decided that if they had to spend the week marking than their students had to spend it working. At least they weren't going to a rave on a school night. That didn't seem like an excuse Mr. Harris was willing to accept.

The rave didn't start until fairly late, giving the group several hours to kill before they actually had to go to the building.

The clinic had just closed for the night to leave the three of them eating spaghetti as Deaton continued teaching Scott to play cribbage.

"So a pair is twelve," Scott began, adding the additional two points up with a smile.

"Runs first," Julian corrected automatically. "Sorry," he apologised quickly. "It's easier to count when people aren't interrupting." _Like you just did again. Well done._

"I'm fine," Scott said, shaking his head as he quickly added the next three points. "It's just adding to fifteen and counting to ten combined with go-fish." He grabbed a peg and moved it seventeen spaces forwards.

"Well done," Deaton commented as he slowly went over his points, ensuring that Scott and Julian could keep up with the quick addition he was performing. "You've gotten the hang of this remarkably quickly. It looks like you might take this game."

Julian nodded in agreement, watching Scott grin broadly at the compliment from Deaton.

"The same cannot be said," Deaton continued, "For Julian, here."

Julian scowled. He was barely past forty, mainly due to the cards he'd drawn. If the game kept up the way it had gone so far… He sighed.

"You know, the double skunk line is at sixty," Deaton reminded him with a small, playful grin.

"I'm aware," Julian responded, shuffling the deck swiftly and almost angrily.

"And I'm pretty close to the end," Scott said, joining in with Deaton.

Glaring at Scott, Julian forced a smile. "You're not _that_ close."

"That doesn't mean I'm not still winning," Scott said with a broad smile.

"It's the luck of the draw," Julian responded sharply.

"I wouldn't know; I'm new at this," Scott reminded him. "This is only about the second time I've played and I'm ahead by quite a lot."

Gritting his teeth together, Julian forced himself to appear calm. "I'm going easy on you because you're learning."

"Go ahead. Do your worst, I'm sure I can handle it," Scott offered with a badly hidden smile. "Or your best, I guess. It's kind of hard to be doing any worse than you are right now…"

"I will," Julian responded, shooting Scott a glare that lacked any real bite before returning back to dealing the cards. He looked up to see Scott's shoulders shaking from his barely-contained laughter.

"Asshole," Julian muttered, trying unsuccessfully to keep himself from smiling back.

Scott just grinned, chocolate-coloured eyes crinkling up at the corners as his entire face lit up.

Julian stuck his tongue out at him as a retort and returned to his cards, trying to use them to keep himself from laughing. It didn't work. At all. Scott's smile was infectious.

"Your maturity level never fails to impress," Deaton said, raising an eyebrow and lightly shaking his head. While the vet maintained his composure better than the other two, even he couldn't quite hide the slight smile on his face.

Scott's laughter had for the most part subsided but he was still grinning broadly as he put down a card. "Seven," he said.

Julian slapped down the eight of spades competitively. "Fifteen-two," he stated, leveling a gaze at Scott, whose grin widened.

"Really?" he asked, amused.

Julian nodded seriously. "Bring it on, McCall," he stated.

Scott snorted, still grinning as the game carried on.

Scott was only a hand away from winning when there was a loud, impatient knock at the door.

Julian set the cards down and shovelled the remaining spaghetti in his mouth as he snatched his jacket off of the back of the chair. Chewing swiftly, he tugged the jacket on. "I'll see you in half an hour," he told Scott. "Too bad we won't know who won," he added with feigned sadness.

"Oh, I think we can save our game," Deaton said with a grin. "Carry on tomorrow."

"Provided that the kanima doesn't kill us," Julian pointed out, his nerves beginning to return as he tugged his arms through the sleeves. "Or maim us. Or kill someone else. Like it has the last few times."

Scott nodded, worry crossing his face as the immediacy of the plan started to hit him, only to be swiftly replaced by focus and determination. "Stiles and I will be there in a little bit," he said. "He'll lay the circle as soon as we get there."

"I'll keep my phone on vibrate," Julian told him. "Text me when you get there."

"Be careful," Deaton reminded him seriously. "All of you."

"We've got the ketamine," Julian said with a shrug that was more confident than he actually felt.

"And we've got each other," Scott insisted. "We'll get him. This will work."

"Of course," Deaton said. "Just be careful that in the hurry to get Jackson you look after each other, as well as the people around you."

"We will," Scott said, meeting Deaton's gaze and forming an unspoken promise.

Julian forced a smile. "He's just a murderous lizard monster who heals from almost everything," he said. "How bad could it be?"


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: I'm back! And so are weekly updates! (I'm now less swamped with school and have discovered that hot chocolate powder has soy in it, which was super fun). I appreciate your patience. Also, this story is in a community now! (And has been for a over a month before I noticed, sorry for not realising sooner).**

 **Hope everyone's new year has been good so far!**

 **Thanks again.**

* * *

He definitely should have walked to the rave. He should have just stuck with the plan and ignored Derek's protests about the whole 'geriatric murderer with a grudge against their family' (which was, of course, Peter's fault) and 'serial killer lizard on the loose' thing. Or he could've taken the bus. Sure he might have been murdered on one of the dark country roads leading out of town to the warehouse district, but at least he wouldn't have been crammed into the middle of the back seat of Derek's car; stuffed between Erica and Isaac. It was like he was seven again; shoved between Cora and Derek in the back of the van, chatting eagerly in lowered tones so that the family in the row in front of them couldn't hear them.

Sure it had been uncomfortable, especially after Derek hit his growth spurt, but they'd been family. And they'd talked about tv shows and jokes Julian couldn't remember anymore while stealing snacks out of the bag Peter always stuffed in the backseat 'by accident'. They'd had fun, and when they hadn't, they'd always made up afterwards.

Besides, neither of Derek or Cora had been bony bundles of limbs that elbowed him every time they made a turn like Isaac was.

Though being elbowed near-constantly thanks to the winding back roads of Beacon Hills was annoying, it wasn't what had caused Julian's good mood to rather quickly evaporate. The blame was still on Isaac, but it was more because of the words coming out of his mouth than his abnormally pointy elbows.

"They're evil monsters that can suck out your soul," Julian explained irritably, feeling the conversation veering further and further from where it had begun. "Which isn't important because-"

"What do you mean 'suck out your soul'? I thought the books were about wizards or something?" Isaac's interruption was accompanied by a look of faux innocence that made Julian want to punch him. Hard. In the nose.

 _He'll bleed all over you,_ Julian reminded himself in an attempt to not lose control during a lecture about said subject. Derek wasn't going to talk to them about it after all. He'd either let Julian do it (in the rare moments he wasn't teaching them to rip someone's throat out in 'self defense') or forget about it until he was stuck with the reality he'd created for himself.

The point was that punching Isaac in the face wasn't likely to help his case. Or theirs. For a brief moment though, he entertained the thought (his jeans were black after all, the blood wouldn't show up very well). Then he let out a breath through clenched teeth and gave Isaac a sarcastic grin that promised immense pain should the blonde teen continue down his current path and tried to find the train of thought he'd lost.

Isaac merely grinned at the clearly frustrated beta next to him.

 _Dick,_ Julian thought to himself, biting his lip to prevent him from saying so out loud. _It's your job to make sure they have some glimmer of a chance of not killing everything in sight,_ he reminded himself. "My point," he said tersely, "Was that the whole idea behind a Patronus is that you need to think of the thing that makes you happiest." It was the closest analogy he'd been able to come up with (he was spending to much time with Deaton) and Isaac had to be a poorly-read asshole about the whole thing.

"So your award-winning advice is 'go to your happy place?'" Erica asked, clearly siding with Isaac in this debate. They were ganging up on him, Julian realised darkly. Like a bunch of pain in the ass kids with their substitute teacher. Which he was, in sense. The teacher who came in out of nowhere and wouldn't let them have any fun like their normal teacher would. If breaking limbs and running obstacle courses in an abandoned train depot could ever be considered _fun._

Julian had never dealt particularly well with this sort of situation. Games of copy-cat with his siblings had tended to end with him diving at them across the table. More often than not, his eyes were glowing a vibrant yellow at the time.

He'd grown somewhat since then. Now instead of attempted murder, he let out a tense breath through his clenched teeth. "My award winning advice," Julian replied stiffly, "Is that if you don't want to listen to me then your free to go along with your Alpha's plan," he continued, his tone turning mocking as his frustration wore on his self-restraint. "You know, the one that involves all of the nice chains and spikes back in the depot. Doesn't that seem fun?"

He waited for a response for all of a second before he plowed on. "So, to recap; find something that makes you feel human and not like a murderer, which may be more difficult for some of you than others," he added, glowering pointedly at Isaac, "And make sure that you use that to control the shift before the full moon. You won't be able to fight it fully, but it will make you less inclined to rip Derek's head off when you inevitably break through the rusted thirty year old chains."

"Derek can make us shift back," Isaac said, gesturing at the driver's seat. "He did it before."

"And what were you doing before that?" Julian asked flatly.

Isaac briefly glanced downwards. "It worked though," he insisted.

Julian could see Erica nodding in agreement and Boyd frowning thoughtfully.

"Derek's not always going to be around to Alpha you back, and quite frankly that doesn't always work," Julian explained, thinking back to the Hale house full moons. The annoyance had faded somewhat from his tone, but he still felt like he was talking to a wall. He wasn't pack to these people, nor were they pack to him, and that wasn't helping matters.

"It's a reflex," Derek said, speaking up for the first time since Julian had gotten into the car. "But the effect fades quickly unless you can hold onto your anchor, and if it gets used all the time it doesn't work as well. You are going to have to learn control. We're a pack and we look out for each other, but you need to learn how to protect and control yourselves first. The pack is only as strong as its weakest member." Derek paused and Julian caught an almost wistfulness in his determined eyes. "The Hale pack has always protected people. And that's what we're doing. We're going to stop the kanima. It's not taking any more victims." The wistful look turned to one of pure fire. "We are going to stop it. Tonight. Here."

With a reluctant sigh, Julian forced himself to not bring up how well that had been going for them so far. Or that 'here' was the middle of nowhere two minutes away from where Jackson was. "Just-" Julian hesitated for a moment, then he settled on being direct. That he could do. "Just think of a memory, or a saying; something that keeps you human and grounds you. I'll come over during the break and help out," he finished, the last part directed more at Derek than the pack. "Until then just find something that you can hold onto no matter what."

"Like a Patronus," Erica breathed, her face softening as she stared off into the middle distance.

"Does it have to be happy?" Boyd spoke up, the wheels in his head turning. Glancing up, Julian studied the taller teen for a moment. He wasn't sure if Derek had known when he'd bitten Boyd, but the guy was almost unnerving perceptive. He paid attention even the most mundane things, and he picked up information fast. If anyone was going to understand the idea of an anchor, it was probably him. "Derek said it has to mean something, and you said it has to keep you grounded. What about pain?"

Julian winced and his eyes found Derek's in the rearview mirror. "Physical pain will work but the more you turn the more pain is required. And emotional... Somewhat," he admitted. "It's easier to be hurt than happy," he continued, gaze never wavering from Derek's. "Probably not a good idea though."

"Why not?"

"Because it means your holding on to your pain," Derek answered, gaze dropping to the road in front of him. "An actual anchor, dragging you down instead of rooting you," he murmured. Talia's words sounded almost empty now, the vigor and conviction they'd been first spoken with replaced with a sense of loss.

"And I've been through therapy enough to tell you that it's not healthy to do that," Julian finished, staring at the back of Derek's head with a sense of understanding. "It's hard to explain, but you know when you'll find it."

After all, true anchors were necessary, and though they changed, they were always there.

Just like the wolf.

* * *

Julian heard Stiles well before he saw him. He'd picked up the familiar voice as soon as he stepped out of the car. "Just pour the ash around the building! What could _possibly_ go wrong? Because everything's been going _perfectly_ so far! I'm sure Stiles can do this! All on his own. In the dark parking lot. With Jackson the murder-lizard free to rip his face off..."

Following the thin trail of black dust from the Jeep around the corner led him to where Stiles was walking forwards. Scott was nowhere to be seen; must have gone inside, Julian realised with a frown. He wouldn't have abandoned Stiles unless it was important... Had something gone wrong so soon?

Something was definitely wrong with Stiles, that much was clear. Even without werewolf senses telling him about the guilt and self-loathing pooling sourly underneath the heavy aroma of anxiety, Julian could see the unusually slow movement and slump in Stiles' shoulders. Something was very wrong, but it didn't seem like it had anything to do with the mountain ash. Or at least not _only_ because of it. Sure it was an important job and there was a lot riding on Stiles, yet Julian couldn't see how pouring ash on the ground would lead to such an overwhelming sense of _guilt_.

"Do you want me to grab the next bag?" he called over to Stiles, not wanting to startle him. Not when he was like this.

All the same, Stiles' head whipped over to Julian and the trail of mountain ash took an abrupt turn with the movement. The brunette's wide eyes stared blankly at the shorter, darker-haired teen for several seconds before Stiles seemed to register that the figure in front of him was Julian. Even after, Stiles stood still for several more seconds; not moving with his eyes a million miles away.

"Do you want me to get the next bag?" Julian repeated, trying to keep his voice level and steady, not wanting to worsen Stiles' mood.

Stiles blinked, taking a second process the words through his haze of nerves before he nodded. "Yeah," he responded, jerking his head over in the direction of where his Jeep was parked. Having noticed that the ash was starting to pile up, he jerked upwards and started walking slowly forwards again. "That would be great. Scott ran inside after Allison-"

"Wait, Allison's date is _here?"_

"This is Beacon Hills and we're trying to save someone from a rampaging monster from killing everyone. Of course her date is going to be here."

"That's a good point," Julian said softly, his mind on Derek and Boyd going off to patrol the perimeter. If Allison was here… _Gerard isn't going to come to his grandaughter's date. Derek and Boyd will_ _be fine; just stick to the plan._ Forcing the thoughts out of his head, he took a deep breath and steadied himself. Stiles was worried enough as it was, he didn't need even more pressure on him. None of them did. "I'll go grab the bag."

"Can you even pick it up?" Stiles asked, the curiosity distracting him momentarily from whatever was bothering him.

Julian shrugged. "Guess we'll see."

Stiles snorted and actually rolled his eyes before the overwhelming doubt rolled back over him and his grip around the garbage bag tightened as he returned his focus to the task at hand. A task that left plenty of room for thoughts about the impending dangers coming in after them.

Julian gave him a tight smile before turning to get the bag out of the Jeep. Luckily Stiles hadn't seen it. Even without a mirror, Julian knew that the expression would have showed Stiles just how worried he was. About Jackson. The kanima. The master. Gerard. Derek. The amount of homework his French teacher had assigned. Everything in general. That was liable to be unhelpful.

Clamping his eyes shut and sucking in a breath of air, Julian reopened his eyes and forced his legs to propel him forwards, trying all the while to ignore how weightless every step felt and the creeping feeling that something was very very wrong. Experience had taught him that the instincts that came with being a werewolf weren't to be ignored when it came to danger, yet he didn't really see another option. It wasn't like it was a surprise that trying to trap someone siccing a kanima- and Jackson with it- on people would qualify as 'dangerous' anyways.

Stiles had parked his Jeep about thirty feet back in a mostly empty section of the parking lot. There were a few other cars scattered among the area but it seemed like mostly staff vehicles or cars from some of the other businesses that called the district home. All of them were empty though. An odd leniency from Beacon Hills, but Julian really didn't want to question it any more than he wanted to explain why his friend was pouring black powder around a building. His current answer was 'modern art.' The excuse worked more often than it should've. He and his friends had gotten out of a few scrapes with that one, partly thanks to their impressive ability to come up with bullshit about how it was 'meaningful expression' on the spot.

His current idea was 'It represents how trapped they are by conventional society'.

Julian found the bags of mountain ash in the back where they'd been haphazardly tossed on top of a couple of water bottles and a sweatshirt.

While he was pretty sure that Deaton had gotten most of the ash inside the bag, Julian still tugged the moss-coloured sleeves of his sweater down over his hands before he went to grab the bag. Careful not to inhale, he gently shook the bag to dislodge any powder on the outside before he slung it over his shoulder in an attempt to keep any remaining dust away from his face. Peter used to tell horror stories about anyone stupid enough to ingest the stuff, and Talia had always kept it in the same cupboard as Laura's pesticides. He didn't want to find out why.

Despite the fact the ash was likely poisonous as well as capable of producing a force field, it didn't seem to be preventing him from holding the garbage bag. There was an odd tingling sensation on the palms of his hands; like there was a low electrical current running just beneath his fingers, though it wasn't so much uncomfortable as it was disconcerting.

"If my hands fall off after this, I'm blaming you," Julian informed Stiles, who was standing with the empty bag in his hand and a dark expression on his face.

"What? Yeah, whatever," Stiles said, grabbing the bag and fishing his keys out of his pocket to cut a small hole in the bag.

Watching Stiles rip the plastic apart with unusual venom, Julian narrowed his eyes slightly. "Are you going to tell me?" he asked, not wanting to tip toe around the subject or pretend to be totally oblivious.

"Tell you…"

Clearing his throat, Julian shifted, suddenly conscious of the fact that Stiles a private person and that his own bluntness wasn't always appreciated. He didn't really want to push Stiles, and he didn't know him as well as Scott did... Tightening his grip on his crossed arms, he plowed on. "I meant did you want to talk. Because you're being weird. Weirder than normal. And I can smell it," he added before Stiles could protest. "And see it. Rather clearly."

"Yeah, you can smell feelings and sprout hair from your cheeks at will but _I'm_ the weird one."

"Which says a lot about you," Julian stated. "If you don't want to tell me. That's fine. Just- You're okay with this, right?" he asked, gesturing at the line of ash.

"It seems, so far at least, that pouring ash in a line does not require werewolf powers."

"You can pour ash in a line _because_ you're not a werewolf. And because you stuck around for murderers and all of this shit," Julian corrected. "Which is more than I can say," he admitted, then continued, "Look, if you need help, call, okay? Boyd and Derek are around here somewhere; they should be able to hear you if you need something." Julian hesitated before leaving. "It'll be fine," he said.

"Are you talking to me or yourself?"

"Both," Julian said with a shrug. "It's not really working."

"It's the thought that counts."

* * *

The music was tolerable compared to the crap that the club had been playing. It wasn't good by any measure, at least in Julian's opinion. The crowd seemed to be having fun though; bouncing up and down in time with the beat. He couldn't call what most of them were doing _dancing_ after all. Holding in a groan, he forced himself to keep scanning faces.

The crowd was more of an annoyance than anything else. With the lot of them bouncing around it was harder to sort through them all. The real issue was just that there were so many of them and all of them were moving.

It was the lighting that was the real problem; pulsing and flashing irregularly, and it was off-beat as though to compound the problem and Julian's oncoming headache. Without a steady light source, searching for anyone suspicious in the mass of bodies was even harder than it should have been.

If anyone looked out of place, it was probably Julian; standing near the edge of the crowd with a glare on his face and his fingers rapidly tapping against his thigh.

So far he'd come up with several people who were definitely drunk (the water bottles weren't fooling anyone, least of all someone with werewolf senses) and their chemistry teacher, who was dancing with a blonde girl in a very short dress and very high heels. At least she looked over twenty. And Mr. Harris hadn't seen him. Julian was doing decently in chemistry, and he really didn't want to jeopardize that.

"Seen anything?" Isaac asked, squeezing out of the throng of people over to where Julian was lurking.

Julian shook his head, a sour expression on his face. "Drunk people and Mr. Harris," he responded. "No one that stands out or seems _wrong."_

"Aside from our chemistry teacher."

"Mr. Harris is a dick, not a murderer," Julian responded. "If anyone here was smelling like murder, I should be able to _tell."_ And the fact that he couldn't was a problem. The plan relied on them catching the master here; preferably before they killed someone else, and if Julian couldn't find him he doubted the others would be able to. Shitty healing abilities and mild control issues aside, his senses were better than the other betas' and he had more experience looking for danger near-constantly. Or at least looking for it using the werewolf part of his brain.

"Well, guess who found Jackson," Isaac said with a triumphant smile that did little to hide the faint tremor in his hand as he crossed his arms across his chest. As overconfident as Isaac was at times, he was still a sixteen year old trying to catch a serial killer.

"You found him?" Julian asked, realising that the answer was obvious as soon as the words left his mouth. "Then they _have_ to be here," he muttered mainly to himself. They had to be, but he'd seen _nothing_. With the slip up back in the library he'd been hoping the wolf lurking at the corners of his mind would be helpful for once and point out the killer. Point out the threat. But there was nothing but silence... He'd never thought he'd be unhappy to feel the monster taking a day off.

The curly-haired teen shrugged and gestured and the crowd. "Erica's keeping an eye on him. He's definitely all…" Isaac briefly trailed off, searching for an adequate descriptor.

"Murder mode," Julian supplied, quoting Stiles without really thinking of it. "Which means that he's definitely after the girl running this. And he's here to kill her this time. Probably waiting for her to be on her own." _No fog machines this time at least._

"Well, we've got a plan," Isaac said with a smile, his eyes catching sight of someone approaching from behind them. "And we've got ketamine. What more could we need?"

"A tank," Julian replied dryly. "We could use a tank."

"Why do we need a tank?" Scott asked, a confused expression on his face as he approached them with the syringe badly concealed behind his back. Something was off with him too, Julian noted. Not as obvious as Stiles, but there. Different though... _Anger and_ _frustration and betrayal_... Something to do with Allison, probably.

"Why wouldn't we?" Isaac responded with a cocky grin that only made Scott's brows furrow deeper.

"Erica's watching Jackson," Julian said to Scott, redirecting the conversation with little subtlety.

"We're ready for you to stick him," Isaac added, miming stabbing someone in the throat.

Scott nodded distractedly. "Allison's here," he said, anger touching the words as he added, "And so is Gerard."

"Shit," Julian hissed, his fingers tapping more quickly against his thigh. "Boyd and Derek are still on the perimeter; they'll have found each other by now," he realised, sharing a worried look with Isaac.

"I'll take care of it," Scott replied uncharacteristically roughly before his expression softened. "They'll be fine," he told the other two with an odd amount of reassurance in his tone considering how pissed he's just sounded a moment earlier. "You guys worry about Jackson and about yourselves."

"I'm not worried about Derek," Julian replied. "Well, somewhat. But that's not the main problem. We can't get Jackson out of here if they're outside," he reminded them. "And Derek can't exactly put him in the car if he's busy fighting the Argents."

"There are some storage rooms down the hall," Scott said after a moment of consideration. "I saw them when I came in."

"There might be someone in them," Isaac pointed out.

"I'll take care of it. We'll worry about the master when he's not in control of an unstoppable lizard monster," Julian stated flatly before turning to Scott. "Derek can take care of himself, and the hunters aren't here to kill anyone. Not yet at least." _'I hope,'_ he almost added before clamping his mouth shut. He was not going to support Scott going out to fight people with guns, and if he implied that they were in danger, Scott's stupid sense of nobility was liable to kick in to high gear.

 _They will be fine. Gerard's not going to let his men shoot them when he can have the satisfaction of murdering everyone with Jackson._

Scott was already shaking his head though. "They'll need help, and I need to check on Stiles," he explained. "I think he tried to call me a minute ago but I missed the tone with all the music."

Julian didn't see the point in arguing with him. He wasn't going to get anywhere and it would just waste time.

"Erica and I have got Jackson then," Isaac said decidedly.

Scott nodded in agreement with the plan, pulling out the syringe to give to Isaac as Julian turned in the direction of the storage rooms. Hesitating, Julian turned back to them. The words he wanted to say wouldn't come, so he forced a smile and settled with, "Try not to get killed, okay?"

"You too," Scott replied seriously.

Smiling tiredly, Julian turned to see Isaac brandishing the syringe and he almost rolled his eyes despite the seriousness of the situation. "And try not to kill Jackson either."

* * *

"He's had a little too much to drink," Erica said as she and Isaac lugged a paralyzed and unconscious Jackson down the hall, tossing a few onlookers a chastised but amused smile. Most of them didn't seem overly concerned, and the few who did quickly lost interest.

"Total lightweight," Isaac echoed before grunting as Jackson's weight shifted and he was forced to rush forwards in order to avoid dropping Jackson on the concrete floor.

"Just needs a minute to sober up," Julian added from down the hall, standing outside the tiny storage room he'd found. The others had all either been occupied or full of equipment. At least this one had a couple of escape routes in case Jackson got loose. They weren't going to be able to restrain him if he did, and he did not want to end up paralyzed after the message Jackson had scrawled on the library chalkboard.

As soon as the door was closed, Erica's concern evaporated and she tossed Jackson into the chair with little regard for his well-being. Which, considering what he'd done to her, was more than fair.

"Asshole," Erica muttered as she disdainfully looked down her nose at Jackson's slumped figure; half falling off of the folding chair she'd tossed him onto.

"Asshole being controlled by a serial killer," Julian reminded her, leaving the argumentative tone out of his voice in place of a gentle reminder. Jackson was massive asshole, but they weren't going to kill him.

"Whatever," she muttered, tossing her long blonde hair over her shoulder. "What are we supposed to do with him now?"

The three of them turned to regard Jackson's still form. Even paralyzed there was something sinister about him. Maybe how his eyes were still open; unseeing but still somehow pointed in their direction. Or how his body just sort of lay there on the chair as though he could get up at any moment.

"We could tie him up?" Isaac suggested.

Julian studied Jackson's tense form with a sense of growing discomfort and worry. The ketamine should've made him go totally limp; Deaton had given them enough to tranquilize a horse, yet he wasn't so much paralyzed as he was vacant. Like his mind had wandered off somewhere else. Suddenly Derek's words about Jackson taking two clips from Allison's father felt more ominous than ever. "I don't think it'll hold him if he wakes up," Julian admitted, unconsciously taking a half step backwards towards the door out to the parking lot.

"He's not awake now, right?" Isaac asked, peering at Jackson and taking a step forwards.

Julian's arm shot out to grab Isaac by the shoulder. Something was wrong. And while Julian wasn't sure what it was exactly, he knew better than to ignore the wolf inside his head when it came to warnings like this. "I don't think you should touch him," he said, eyes not straying from Jackson.

"We need to-" Isaac started when suddenly the door swung open.

Julian whirled, feet planted in a fighting stance while Isaac's eyes flared yellow and he brought his arms up. Erica lunged forwards, claws extended as the figure pushed through and-

"Wha- No no no!" Stiles yelped in surprise, eyes fixated on the claws a frozen Erica had poised a couple of inches away from his throat. "It's just me, it's just me. It's okay," he said in a soothing tone that was more commonly used when someone was talking to their dog.

It worked more than Julian wanted to admit. The three betas slowly relaxed, though Erica's claws were still out and Isaac was still looming over Stiles.

"Is the barrier up?" Julian asked, breaking the tense silence that had fallen and prompting the tableau to break apart completely as the three came to their senses.

"Yeah," Stiles responded, shutting the door behind him and turning to see Jackson in the chair. "It's done, you should have- We're… We're sure he's out, right?" Stiles asked.

Isaac stared at Jackson's unnerving but still frozen form. "Well, let's find out."

Fighting back the urge to stop him again, Julian backed further away. Next to him, Erica did the same. Both of them could clearly hear Isaac's heart thundering. Stiles stood beside them, eyes watching for any sign of trouble.

Julian and Erica exchanged anxious looks as Isaac's hand got closer and closer…

Jackson moved like a snake; striking fast and without warning. One moment he was perfectly still, eyes staring vacantly at the trio behind Isaac. The next, Isaac was sliding to his knees as Jackson's grip tightened on his arm and Jackson began to almost rise out of his seat.

It was Isaac's cry of pain that broke the others out of their shock; propelling the forwards to yank Isaac out of Jackson's grip and over to the back of the room.

Four pairs of eyes; two brown, one blue and one green stared at the figure with varying levels of horror. But nothing happened. Jackson just sat there, his unclawed hand hanging limply between his legs as though nothing had happened.

A few more seconds passed, then half a minute and still Jackson did not move.

"Alright!" Stiles exclaimed, the loud tone causing the others to jump in surprise. "No one does anything like that again! Okay?" he proclaimed, his voice louder than usual, his gaze still on Jackson.

"I thought the ketamine was supposed to put him out," Isaac said defensively.

"Yeah, well apparently this is all we're going to get," Stiles responded, gesturing at Jackson and still using a tone too loud for the small, enclosed space.

"We need to get him out of here," Julian warned. "Or find someway to keep him in until the rave is over. Do we have any more mountain ash?" he asked Stiles. "To trap him in here," he clarified.

At the mention of mountain ash, a triumphant look crossed Stiles' face. "I made it work! Force of will and all that! But… there's not any left," he admitted, his face falling. "But he can't get out of the building, and the rave is almost over. So all we have to do is keep him in here until it's over and everyone will leave. So let's just hope that whoever's controlling him just decided to show up tonight."

"I'm here."

Four heads whipped around as one.

"Did he just-" Stiles began.

"I'm right here with you." Jackson's vacant eyes trailed up to the horrified faces.

"Fuck," Julian managed, eyes instinctively going to the door and feet finding a fighting stance. "That's…" Bad didn't really seem sufficient for the situation.

"Jackson," Stiles started moving forwards towards Jackson only for Julian to grab his arm with an expression saying 'Don't be an idiot'.

Nodding in acknowledgement, Stiles returned the look with a face that said 'I can handle it' and waited until Julian removed his hand. The Stiles steeled himself and took a hesitant half-step forwards. "Is that you?" the lanky teen continued.

"Us. We're all here," came Jackson's- or rather the person controlling him's, response.

There was something off sync with his speech. Like two people were talking at the same time. Or Jackson was merely echoing the words of someone else. A tool for someone else's thoughts and actions.

"Are you the one killing people?" Stiles asked, remaining out of reach of Jackson's still human hands but still getting much closer than anyone else wanted to.

"We're the ones killing _murderers."_ There was an animalistic rage in the words now, warping Jackson's arrogant tone into something twisted and almost inhuman.

"So all the people you killed so far-"

"Deserved it."

Stiles nodded more to himself than anything else, clearly analysing and sorting through information with surprising clarity given the situation. "See, we got a little rulebook that says you only go after murderers."

"Anything can break if enough pressure is applied," Jackson hissed.

"So you're not just trying to kill murderers anymore?" Julian asked, remaining close to the door and ready for Jackson- no, the _kanima-_ to strike.

"They deserved it."

"Alright," Stiles said in a tone that suggested he was merely humouring the creature. "So the people you're killing are all murderers?"

"All. Each. And. Every. One."

"Well who did they murder?" Stiles questioned.

"Me."

Stiles' forced smile evaporated. "Wait, what do you mean?" he demanded.

Staring at Jackson's still form and the rage in his eyes, Julian could practically hear the alarm bells ringing in his head. _Get out. Get out. Get out._

"They murdered _me_ ," Jackson repeated, head twitching and yellow, slitted eyes flicking upwards to meet Stiles.

Self-preservation finally kicking in, Stiles scrambled backwards. "Alright more ketamine! The man needs ketamine," he declared as Jackson's hands darkened to a mottled green and claws began to push up from under his fingernails.

Isaac stared helplessly at the empty bottle in his hand. "We don't have anymore."

Breaking his gaze away from Jackson to stare at Isaac with a disbelieving look, Stiles demanded, "You used the _whole_ bottle?!"

"Stiles…" Julian said in a warning tone as Jackson lurched unsteadily to his feet.

"Okay. Out! Everybody out!" Stiles yelled, frantically shoving the betas out the door and into the dark parking lot.

Julian almost tripped over the ledge of the door, stumbling for a couple of steps before he regained his balance, turning in time to see Jackson crash through the wall like something off of _Loony Tunes_ and race off into the night, disappearing impossibly quickly.

Julian just stood there. He knew he should be scared yet all he could feel was an odd disconnect. Disjointed. Like the world was a million miles away. He simply stood there, blankly staring at the hole as though trying to convince himself that Jacks had indeed just _leapt through the fucking wall._ The _fucking metal wall._

Somewhere far away, Isaac and Erica were moving, yet it didn't quite matter.

"Hey," Stiles said suddenly, waving his hand in front of Julian's face. "You still here?"

Starting, "Sort of," Julian answered honestly, blinking a few times to try and bring himself back down to earth. "I..." he trailed off, trying to figure out the plan. _Derek._

"What about him?"

Realising that he must have voiced the name, Julian shook his head and forced himself to focus. "We need to find Derek, tell him that Jackson is loose," he stated, the words as much for himself as they were for Stiles.

He inhaled, looking for Derek's familiar scent and stepped forwards only to slam his foot into something hard and unyielding.

Looking down, he noticed the black line in front of him. Tentatively, he reached out until his fingers brushed the barrier; a low current running against them as the air flared purple around his hand.

"That is awesome!" Dancing around in a circle and pumping his fist in the air, Stiles stared at the field with awe in his eyes. "I did something!" he exclaimed. "I did something," he repeated in a proud tone.

"Yeah, you did," Julian agreed with a faint smile, lowering his hand. "He's trapped in here," he repeated softly. "They both are."

"So the plan worked!" Stiles cheered.

"Jackson's loose," Julian reminded him, the reality of the situation reasserting itself on the two of them.

"Well, there's that. Just a tiny problem." Stiles paused. "We should probably go find Derek and Scott."

* * *

They found Derek standing on the other side of the mountain ash barrier with a frown on his face. He smelled like blood and smoke, but he appeared uninjured as far as Julian could tell. "Jackson got out; the ketamine wasn't enough," he told his brother. _I'm glad you're not dead,_ he meant.

"I saw him go past," Derek responded. "Everyone's leaving, hopefully we can just wait and find the master when he tries to leave."

"Or she," Stiles said. "What? Let's be openminded here. Besides, you were the one who thought it was Lydia, remember?"

Julian grinned at the glare Derek gave Stiles and was about to agree when a howl sounded in the distance. One of pain and fear.

Scott.

 _Danger._

 _Go._

 _Now._

Julian heard Derek yelling behind him but he couldn't hear the words; he was already running.

He was vaguely conscious of his eyes changing to gold as his feet hit the pavement. That there was a red mist hovering on the edge of his vision as he pushed his legs _faster._

Derek was behind him, somewhere in the distance yelling his childhood nickname with eyes glowing like coals in the dark.

 _Too slow. An Alpha but he can't feel it. Not like the rest of the family._

 _Can't see that he can run._

There was a shed up ahead.

 _There,_ the mist seemed to say, the building pulsing with unnaturally bright light.

It was only when he ran through the door the world came back with a slam, the mist replaced with a darkened room as he gagged. He was choking on smoke again, his family's screams rattling around his skull as his skin melted away...

He tried to breathe but the air felt like poison.

It was the wolfsbane in the air that brought the wolf back out, and it ended up saving his life.

Reflexes and senses kicking into overdrive, Julian's arms shot up to block the arm coming at his face.

 _Knife,_ he realised, spotting the glint in her hand too late to totally move his arms, the blade digging into his arm. _Painful but not debilitating._

He lashed out with his foot and then stepped backwards, trying to keep distance between himself and the blade.

Somewhere in the back of Julian's head, his instructor was yelling at the class to never get into a fight with someone who had a weapon. Ever. This was different though, wasn't it?

His eyes found Scott's prone form on the ground behind the woman.

 _Different,_ he repeated, ducking out of the way of another strike.

The woman was snarling now, bringing the knife up yet again.

 _Bad form. Ribs, chest exposed. Stronger attack for a weaker defense. She's angry._

He was sizing up a kick to shatter her ribcage when suddenly a figure crashed into the woman, sending her back into the wall.

"Get Scott!" Derek shouted, coughing around the words as the wolfsbane in the air hit him.

Blinking, Julian felt the red haze dissipate and then he was turning, getting out of the way of the knife and towards Scott, suddenly horribly conscious of how hard it was to breathe. _How long has he been in here?_

He didn't bother checking for a pulse; he grabbed Scott under the arms and, ignoring his half-healed hand's angry protest, dragged the beta out the door, trying to pretend he couldn't hear Derek's cry of pain and angry growl.

 _Don't be dead. Don't be dead. Please, don't be dead._

Stumbling out into the night once more, he put another fifteen feet between himself and the door before releasing his grip on the betas shoulders. Dropping to his knees, Julian's fingers went to his friend's neck, desperately searching for a pulse that he didn't trust his ears to find.

 _Come on. Come on. Come on dammit._

There it was. Weak. But there.

Taking a desperate gulp of clear air, Julian lightly set his hand down on Scott's chest. The wheezing breath nearly scared the life out of him, but it was accompanied by a wave of total relief. A moment later, Scott wheezed again, face twitching though he remained unconscious.

"Thanks," Julian murmured, shakily standing up to face the woman should she come back.

She did. Barely a second had passed when she shot out of the doorway, clutching her shoulder with one hand and her knife in the other. She gave the two a look of utter venom before stumbling away, somehow not falling even in her heels.

Derek followed her out, stopping his pursuit to hurry over to where his brother was standing.

"He's breathing," Julian said, a smile on his face. "He's alive."

Derek's blurry face relaxed but his dulled eyes darted over to where the woman had run, the fear still in his eyes. "Yeah," he murmured before his voice strengthened and the fear was shoved away. "He's alive, Jules. He's alive."


	13. Chapter 13

"Oh thank God," Stiles breathed, staring at Scott in the rearview mirror with relief in his tired eyes. "I thought for sure you were going to die in my backseat."

Scott groaned again and his bleary eyes swivelled to see Julian half-turned out of the passenger seat, eyes still glowing faintly in the dim interior of the Jeep. "Scott, just don't move, alright?" Julian said keeping his voice as level as he could. Scott looked terrible; his clothes were bloodied from several cuts and scrapes, his normally bright and warm brown eyes were dulled and unfocused, and his skin had an almost grey cast to it.

Either not hearing Julian or simply not registering the words, Scott grunted and tried to pick himself up off the backseat only to flop back down, eyes wide with pain. "What- Why am I in the Jeep?" he rasped out.

"Someone tried to kill you," Julian answered, the blunt, indelicate answer feeling just that. Scott had nearly died, and Julian didn't want to add the stress of reminding Scott that it was because someone had tried, quite purposefully, to kill him. He didn't deserve that. Julian knew that feeling all to well, and it was one that had followed him even six years later.

"So much for keeping him calm," Stiles muttered to Julian before he glanced back at his friend again. "Just lie down, alright?" he insisted. "You got the crap beat out of you, man. And you inhaled a lot of wolfsbane; like _a lot._ We're taking you to Deaton's though," he hurriedly tried to reassure his friend. "He knows we're coming."

"It's only a few more minutes away," Julian added, brow furrowing and head tilting to the side as he listened carefully, trying to tune out the rattling sound of the Jeep's engine. While Scott's breathing was more even that it had been when Derek had gently carried Scott over to the car, it was still too shallow and there was an almost creaking sound whenever Scott tried to inhale. "I think he broke a couple of ribs," Julian informed Stiles in a lowered tone.

"Feels like it…" Scott managed in weak agreement. "I think I got hit by a car."

"Wait, you got hit by a car!" Stiles exclaimed, the car veering sharply to the left as the lanky teen whirled to face his friend, forgetting that he was still holding on to the steering wheel.

Wincing, Julian did his best to give Scott a reassuring smile. Getting hit by a car would explain the multiple bruises and scrapes, the broken ribs, bloody knees and the cut on his head from where it had hit the ground. The smile faded abruptly when Julian realised that the woman hadn't been trying to kill Scott with the car; just incapacitate him so she could watch him suffocate to death in front of her.

"You'll heal, alright? The wolfsbane is just making the process slower," Julian told Scott, not bothering to attempt another smile with the anger that had bubbled up inside him. The anger didn't last long though; the worry replacing it as Scott attempted to respond only to start weakly coughing again.

The truth of the matter was that, healing ability or not, they needed to get the injured beta to Deaton soon; the shallow breathing was preventing Scott from expelling the poison in his system as quickly as he could, and his ribs and body wouldn't heal very well with the wolfsbane in his bloodstream.

A pained gasp told both driver and passenger that Scott had tried to sit up again.

"Will you lie back down!" Stiles shouted, finally snapping as the fear that had built up over the night finally rushed out. "You almost died, Scott! Lying there, not moving... When Julian and Derek… I thought you were dead!" he continued, his white-knuckled grip around the steering wheel tightening even more. "You're my best friend, and I swear, if you die in the back of my Jeep..." He took a slow, deep breath and pressed down on the accelerator.

"Victoria…" Scott muttered dully, eyes glassy and half-open. "Can't… tell…" He coughed again, pain pulsing off of him as the movement jarred his broken ribs.

"Scott?" Stiles asked, trying to look at his friend while still keeping the car on the narrow, winding path in front of them.

"I... can't..."

"Shit," Julian muttered, fumbling with his seatbelt. Pulling the strap under his arms, his arm was finally free to reach back and grab Scott's arm with his bare hand. Part of him realised that given that he'd been having some slight slips of control recently and his eyes were currently a bright glowing yellow because of said control issues. And that he hadn't done this in a while, and there was a human in the car.

That doing what he was about to was probably a bad idea.

Then again, going to a rave to catch a serial killer with some dust had been a bad idea.

And letting Scott pass out again was a bad idea.

So Julian tightened his grip on Scott's arm and reached out for the pain running under the skin. Then he _pulled._

 _'It's like two rivers; you want to converge then take the water,'_ his father used to say.

This wasn't a river though; it was a tidal wave. A wall of pain that nearly dragged him under; the world fading out around him as his chest tightened like it was trapped in a vice. The choked breath he tried to drag in felt like it was accompanied by a knife blow, the roar of the engine turning tinny and distant as the world turned grey.

 _'Don't fight the current, channel it.'_

 _'Focus.'_

Slowing his breath, Julian forced himself to concentrate, relaxing his grip on Scott's arm as much as he could and taking the pain away; diverting the flow into himself and letting it pool up inside his chest. Distantly, he felt his eyes dim, the gold turning into a murky green as the pain began to bubble over, burning a hole in his chest, waiting for him to let it out.

 _Enough._

Wrenching his hand off of Scott's arm, Julian clamped his eyes shut and managed to swallow the bile that had risen to the back of his throat before the tidal wave of pain he'd managed to contain broke free. He waited; muscles tensed, hands with a death grip on the sides of the seat; letting the pain overflow completely... then pass... fading to a dull, insistent throbbing as he gently rocked himself from side to side, muscles slowly relaxing.

Then there was a hand on his arm.

"Hey, you alright? What did you just…"

Julian reluctantly opened his eyes and irritably went to knock Stiles hand off of his arm. "Stiles, I'm-" he broke off, having opened his eyes to find that while Stiles had been the one who'd spoken, it wasn't his hand on his arm.

"You shouldn't have done that," Scott said, warm brown eyes meeting murky green ones.

"And you shouldn't have gotten hit by a car," Julian muttered indignantly, trying unsuccessfully to keep the pain out of his voice. Wiping his clammy hands on his pants and taking deep, even breaths to try and settle his stomach, he added, "And at least you're conscious."

"I'm pretty sure if I was dreaming, I wouldn't be in the back of Stiles Jeep with some broken ribs, bleeding all over the seats," Scott responded, smiling weakly.

"At least your sense of humour is intact," Julian muttered, leaning his head against the back of the seat and closing his eyes. "Just try not to pass out before we get to Deaton's, because this really fucking hurts, and there wasn't any point in it if you die now."

* * *

The vet clinic was rarely this crowded. At least not with people. Usually there were only a couple of people in the waiting room and a pet owner in the back with Deaton and Scott. That night though, the vet clinic had turned into something of an injured werewolf emergency room.

Scott was lying down on the examination table in the back room, a thin blue blanket draped over his sleeping form. Deaton had given him a light sedative a couple of hours ago. The healing process was automatic when a werewolf was unconscious, and letting Scott rest would hopefully allow his bones to mend as the wolfsbane drained out of his system. Judging by the black taint to the IV bag in Scott's arm, it was working.

Derek was sitting in a chair opposite Scott, guilt in his bright green eyes as they flicked to Scott's body, to the chair Boyd sat in with Deaton pulling bullets out of his chest, to where Julian sat on the floor, knees to his chest, wrapped in a blanket nearly identical to Scott's save for the frayed edges. While the worst of the pain that Julian had taken from Scott had passed, his legs still felt fragile and he had a pounding headache that was only now beginning to fade away.

Stiles was standing next to Julian, a disgusted expression on his pale, tired face as Deaton carefully pulled another bullet out of Boyd's shoulder with a pair of tweezers. To his credit, Boyd had remained human and in control even with four bullets in his upper body and one shot that had gone clean through his leg. His eyes briefly turned yellow as Deaton poured antiseptic over the wound and his nails lengthened slightly, but otherwise he remained in control.

"What, were you actively trying to get shot?" Stiles asked, watching the bullet fall into the plastic container with a light _clink._ The lanky teen had been unsuccessfully trying to distract himself from the night's events and, judging from the way he was fielding his calls, whatever had happened with his dad. Apparently looking at something that made him want to throw up was better than facing reality.

Ignoring Stiles, "Is that the last of them?" Derek asked Deaton gruffly, his eyes failing to hide the guilt and anger he was feeling.

"Yes," Deaton answered somewhat stiffly. The veterinarian had made it clear that he was no fan of Derek's leadership style, and facing a teenager with bullet wounds and mild aconite poisoning was clearly not helping the matter. "Though it would be wise to, in the future, avoid getting into fights with heavily armed men."

"Is that your recommendation as a doctor?" Stiles joked, abruptly falling silent when he noticed the stare that Derek was shooting at his friend's boss.

"It is an Alpha's duty to teach and to lead as well as to protect; a duty which extends beyond their pack," Deaton continued, moving to wash his hands at the sink and refusing to look at Derek all the while. "Or perhaps that too has changed since I retired."

Derek opened his mouth to argue, then shut it. Gritting his teeth together, his face morphed into his characteristic scowl and he swiftly stood up. "We should go," he said roughly to Boyd. "Erica and Isaac will be waiting."

"I'll come over in the afternoon," Julian stated flatly.

Derek's step faltered momentarily, and he stopped. "Tell Scott to come too," he said, not waiting for a response before he marched towards the door.

The cheery tinkle of the bell on the door echoed through the now silent clinic, and twenty seconds later, an engine could be heard revving and then fading off into the distance.

"Are you sure about that?" Deaton asked Julian. There was nothing judgemental in his tone, just an honest question.

"No," Julian answered with a shrug.

He was saved from having to answer by a low groan. As though having sensed Derek's absence, Scott twitched and his eyelids fluttered.

"I think the meds are wearing off," Julian warned Deaton.

"I think they've worn off," Stiles corrected as Scott's eyes opened and his arm flopped to the side, trying to find a solid surface to support himself with.

"Take it easy," Deaton warned, hurrying forward to steady a disoriented Scott as he shakily tried to sit up.

"Oh sure, when Deaton tells you to stop moving you listen to _him,_ " Stiles said, wandering over to the table to toss his friend a simultaneously both relieved and withering look.

"He has a medical degree," Julian pointed out, standing up on steadier legs and giving Scott a once-over. His breathing was much more comfortable and there was some colour back in his cheeks. He still looked drawn though and some of the abrasions on his cheek hadn't healed, not to mention the ones hidden by his clothes.

"I'll be fine," Scott attempted to reassure them.

"You were hit by a car, remember?" Stiles said, spreading his arms out to his sides. "Or maybe not, because of the giant dent in your head!"

The dent was really more of an abrasion, Julian thought, but he didn't argue.

"You don't appear to have a concussion," Deaton informed Scott, raising an eyebrow as he took in Stiles exasperated movements. "Though I' wold like to keep an eye on you to make sure that the wolfsbane is having no lingering effects. I'd also advise caution; your ribs have set but they are not mended completely."

Scott sighed. "I'm healing," he insisted.

"You're not healed yet though," Julian retorted. "And as the person who knows how much pain you were in, I'd appreciate it if you didn't try to bullshit me."

Scott's mouth hung open. Seeming to accept he wasn't going to win the argument, he turned to look to his left, catching sight of his reflection in one of the glass cabinets. Then he looked at the blood and dirt on his torn shirt and pants. "My mom is going to kill me," he muttered, dismayed.

Stiles rolled his eyes and Julian stared at Scott like he was from another planet. The guy had been hit by a car and he was worried about what his mom would think of his laundry. Sure, Julian would readily admit that coming home soaked in blood was probably hard to explain to a human parent, but it didn't seem like it should be at the top of Scott's list of priorities at the moment.

"I called your mother after Stiles and Julian brought you here," Deaton explained. "I told her that you left the party early."

"She thinks you're staying over at our house," Julian finished slowly, still staring at Scott with a confounded expression. "She said she'd pick you up tomorrow morning."

Stiles nodded in agreement. "Hopefully by then it won't look like you lost a fight with a wookie. Or three."

"It's not that bad…" Scott protested lamely.

"It is," Stiles interrupted before quickly adding, "No offense."

Scott rolled his eyes and slowly lowered himself onto the floor, wincing as he put his weight on his legs.

Leg injuries were common after being hit by a car, Julian remembered. One of Laura's cases probably. The front bumper was at the perfect height to break bones, and while Deaton had found three broken ribs and no other bones injured, Julian could still feel the dull pain in his knees from absorbing what he had from Scott. "You need help?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just sore. I think they're bruised, not broken," Scott admitted, experimentally bending his knees a couple of times, then moving on to trying to balance on one foot.

The loud chime of Stiles' phone startled all four of them. Scott, still standing on one foot, nearly fell over; swaying wildly before he managed to find his balance.

Eyes still wide with surprise, Stiles fumbled with his phone, face falling when he read whatever was on the screen. "I should get going," he muttered. Clearing his throat, he gave Scott a strained smile. "Now that I know you aren't about to keel over, I need to go clean the blood off my seats before my dad finds out."

"I can help-"

"Don't worry about it," Stiles said, shaking his head. "I'm not the one who got hit by a car, remember? You go... Alright? I'll see you tomorrow. Then we can come up with a plan."

"Because that worked so well this time?" Julian muttered.

"Because it's worth nothing if we didn't learn anything," Stiles stated with determination and fire that made Julian take a step back, feeling momentarily guilty. "And we had to learn something. Alright? It has to mean something. Be worth _something."_

Scott nodded. "We're not giving up, Stiles."

"Scott, I've known you since kindergarten; I didn't think we were."

* * *

"What's a trundle bed?" Scott asked as he followed Julian up the narrow staircase, Oliver tagging along next to him. The one-eyed corgi had taken an instant liking to Scott; hopping up to lick his face and trotting after him on stubby legs ever since he'd entered.

"In my room," Julian responded, looking at Oliver's eager, practically smiling expression.

Grinning broadly, Scott bent down to scratch the dog's overlarge ears again. "Good to see you're back on your feet, boy." Catching Julian's curious expression, Scott explained, "Oliver had the first leg I set by myself. He kept getting out of the shelter and he'd ended up getting hit by a car. I guess I kind of know what he feels like."

"He has a sense of kinship with you now," Julian said, raising an eyebrow. "He doesn't usually like people this much."

As if understanding the words, Oliver turned to stare at Julian with his one good eye. There was something oddly judgemental about the whole thing.

"I'm sure he'll come around," Scott said, failing to hide his smile.

Julian shrugged and led Scott into his room, bending over to pull the spare mattress on wheels out from underneath his bed.

"Smart," Scott commented.

"More comfortable than a fold-out too," Julian added, trying to remember where Deaton kept the spare pillows. He was pretty sure they were down the hall in the linen cupboard... or maybe they'd been in the spare room.

"Looks like it," Scott murmured thoughtfully.

"I'll find you some clothes," Julian offered, looking at Scott's badly stained and torn ensemble with an apologetic expression.

"I don't think your stuff will fit," Scott said, pointedly looking between the two of them.

Julian studied him for a moment. While Scott was only a couple of inches taller than he was, Scott's shoulders were broader and he had about fifteen pounds, all of it muscle, on him. Some of his oversized painting clothes could work though. "I might have some stuff from camp, and I think I have one of Derek's go-bags somewhere in here," he said, carefully extending his nails into claws to slice open the tape on one of the unpacked boxes stacked in the corner of his room. It had been labelled _Painting Supplies and Shit._ Laura's work if the neat cursive and hearts over the _i'_ s were anything to go by.

"Thanks, but I can just-" Scott began.

Julian cut him off before he could continue his protests. "You can't really explain that to your mother," he reminded Scott, opening up the box to find that someone had wrapped several of his pottery pieces in paint-clothes to prevent them from breaking during transit. "And if I can't find something we can always ask Deaton." Near the top was a shirt covered in messy signatures from camp a year before. The shirt had nearly swallowed most of the campers since the director had only been able to find extra larges. It was his best bet for anything that was going to fit Scott. Unwrapping the shirt revealed a large, lopsided orange painted bowl that wouldn't sit flat on the desk when Julian set it gently down.

"Did you make that?" Scott asked, tugging off the bloody shirt without a care in the world.

Julian stared blankly at Scott for a moment, then at the purpling bruises along his ribs, and then at the camp shirt still in his hands. Blinking, he tossed Scott the shirt and turned to study the bowl he'd set down. "No, Laura did. The pottery studio I used to go to had a 'bring your family day' and Laura created that abomination," he explained.

"Oh, I didn't…" Scott's voice was faintly muffled as he tugged the shirt on over his head. "Sorry, I mean."

"It's fine," Julian said, eyes following the wonky lip of the bowl. "I'm not going to break into pieces at the mention of her name or anything. She wouldn't want me spending my life crying over her. Laughing over her shitty pottery though…" he trailed off fondly.

"It's nice," Scott offered.

"It was supposed to be a cup," Julian said, looking at Scott to find that the shirt was definitely too big, but was not covered in blood.

"Oh."

Laughing lightly, Julian shifted the box to the side to reveal the duffel bag that he always kept ready. Laura had always insisted that there be a change of clothes for everyone, and even after they'd stopped buying Derek clothes, his old outfit had always remained in the bag. Not that they'd fit him anymore if he had ever needed it. Keeping the clothes had been more sentimental than practical in that respect, though it had come in handy four years later.

"These aren't yours," Scott said, studying the pair of red sweatpants that Julian had passed him.

"They're Derek's," Julian answered, grabbing a pair of pajamas out of his dresser; the pants were patterned like the night sky in Van Gogh's famous painting, the shirt was a dull blue. "You try those on," he said, nodding at the sweatpants. "I'll try to find a pillow."

"It's fine," Scott said, his smile falling and eyes turning almost scared for a brief moment. "I don't think I'll sleep all that well anyways."

Julian shrugged, unconcerned. "Then you can be comfortable while we watch a movie, alright?"

"I don't want to keep you-"

"I'm an insomniac, and Stiles and I made coffee about ten minutes after we got to the clinic," Julian stated. "I'll manage."

Scott stared at Julian for a moment, taking in the raised eyebrows and 'Don't argue with me' posture. "Thanks," he said with a grateful smile.

"You're saying that without knowing that I took the last non-lumpy pillow when I got here," Julian responded.

"In that case, you're a terrible person?" Scott said though it came out sounding more like a question than anything else.

"You wound me, McCall."

* * *

They didn't end up watching a movie. It turned out that Deaton didn't have a DVD player and Julian hadn't bothered putting any movies on his laptop other than some National Geographic documentaries, so he'd resorted to hoping that Laura had left something that wasn't a historical drama on her hard drive.

Flipping open the screen, Julian typed in her password and was greeted with a photo of the annual Hale family picnic from seven years earlier.

"Is that Derek?" Scott asked, leaning forwards and squinting at the broadly grinning teenager as though he were a scientific curiosity.

"He was fifteen," Julian answered.

"It's weird, thinking of Derek as a teenager," Scott admitted, gaze moving to the girl Derek had his arm around.

"That's Paige, his girlfriend. They'd only been together for about a month and he was already head-over-heels in love with her. They were practically joined at the hip the whole time."

"I remember her," Scott said, his brow furrowing and expression darkening. "She died- The school held a big memorial ceremony for her. Stiles had to stay over at my house because his dad was busy investigating the crime scene and the babysitter quit."

"It was a week before their anniversary," Julian said softly, studying the smiling faces on the screen. He'd liked Paige; she had tempered Derek and had always taken the time to play hide-and-seek with him and Cora. "After she died, Derek had... trouble. He wouldn't eat, quit the basketball team, kept getting into fights. He was finally opening up again when the fire happened..." Julian trailed off, his hand absentmindedly drifting to his right arm. The skin had been blackened and cracked like charcoal on a bonfire when Laura had carried him out into the woods. Now the skin was lighter and thicker than the rest; faint ripples running through the scar tissue with faint ridges that he could feel under his fingertips.

"He blamed himself," Julian said, not wanting to defend Derek's behaviour but to at least offer some explanation of how the smiling teen into the grim leader he'd become. Both for Scott and for himself. "He wouldn't look Laura and I in the eye after. Kept staring at me like I was a broken toy and it was all his fault."

"You were pretty badly hurt," Scott reminded him. Catching Julian confused look, Scott briefly glanced away then gestured awkwardly at the other beta's arm. "Your arm and chest, the scarring, I mean; my mom's a nurse. That usually only happens with third degree burns."

"Right," Julian muttered half-to-himself. He'd almost forgotten about the night at the clinic. It felt like an eternity ago, but in reality it hadn't even been a month. Uncertain of what to say, he turned to Scott and stared blankly at him for a few seconds. He settled on, "Your face is better," and regretted it soon after.

Scott cocked his head to the side, blinking in confusion. After a moment, he reached up to touch the newly-formed scab on his cheekbone. "I hope so; this better be gone before my mom gets here because I have no idea what to tell her if it's not.

"You could put on your clothes and tell her it was a costume party and you went as a zombie," Julian offered with a shrug, a faint smile on his lips before he turned serious. "Speaking of which, are you going to tell her? About being a werewolf. This can't be the first time you've had to deal with something like this." There was no way he'd be handling the whole 'someone trying to kill him' ordeal as well as he was if it hadn't.

"No, it's not." Scott let out an exhausted sigh, turning his head to look out the window for a few seconds before his gaze returned to study his hands. "I don't… What am I supposed to say?"

"'Hey mom, I'm a werewolf?'" Julian suggested, not entirely joking. "That's what my mother did to her first husband."

"What did he do?"

"Looked at her and said 'Was that supposed to be a surprise?'"

Scott snorted at that, though the sense of levity soon vanished. "I was going to tell her. I had a speech planned out and everything. I was going to just come out and tell her everything. Let her know that it's not her fault… That I'm trying to sort everything out… I just…" he hesitated for a moment. "After the formal, I couldn't do it," he admitted. "I was right in front of her; standing in the kitchen and I froze. I asked if we could have spaghetti for dinner. I wanted to tell her, but... I didn't want her to look at me the way Allison did when she found out. Like it wasn't me anymore. Like I wasn't- Like I was some kind of…"

"Monster," Julian finished for him quietly.

Scott nodded once, chocolate-coloured eyes filled with a sadness that Julian had seen before.

"You're not a monster, Scott," Julian said, brow furrowing as he added, " _It is our actions that have the ability make us inhuman rather than our blood."_ The irony in those being his father's words didn't make them any less true. "Peter was a monster, but he didn't make you one."

Staring into the middle distance for a moment, Scott appeared to be contemplating something before he finally turned back to Julian. "Thanks."

Julian stared back for a moment then abruptly looked away, clearing his throat, fingers drumming slowly on his thigh.

Swiftly reaching for the mouse, he woke the laptop back up and began opening folders until he found what he was looking for.

"Laura doesn't have any movies on here," he said, trying to ignore Scott's surprise at the abrupt change of topic. It was harder than he'd have thought; he could practically feel the taller teen's eyes boring into his skull as he scrolled down a little. "But she does have _The Incredibles_ and five seasons of _The Crocodile Hunter."_

In the reflection on the computer screen, Julian could see Scott's brow furrow and his eyes narrow before relaxing. Next to him, the taller beta drew in a breath.

"With Steve Irwin?" Scott asked, prompting Julian to blink in surprise, not having expected Scott to go along with the sudden change of topic. "I used to watch that with my mother every day; he was the reason that I first wanted to be a vet when I grew up. Or a zookeeper," he added with a broad smile that Julian was fairly sure was meant to help ease the slightly awkward transition that he had created. Pointing that out was likely to undo that effort though.

"I wanted to be a firefighter," Julian responded after a moment of quiet, finding the first episode of the series and waiting for the video to finish buffering.

"Changed your mind?"

"I started studying marine life. Laura got me some biology books I could use for drawing references." Julian shrugged. "One day I actually bothered to read them."

The video finished loading at the music began to play over shots of Steve and Terry Irwin and Scott shifted, trying to settle in with the lumpy pillow propped up behind his back. As the title card came up, "Comfortable?" Julian asked innocently.

Scott just rolled his eyes. "Ass."

* * *

"That's really not necessary," Mrs. McCall protested.

"It's fine, we've got extras," Deaton said with a warm smile as he beckoned the frazzled nurse through the door and into the kitchen where Scott was sitting.

Still dressed in her flower-patterned green scrubs, and her hair in a ponytail that a few curly strands of hair had managed to escape, Scott's mother had just come off the night shift a few minutes ago. Even with the bright smile and friendly demeanour, she had dark circles under her eyes, and Scott had mentioned that she probably hadn't eaten yet if the hospital was busy.

"Is three alright?" Julian asked her; pan in one hand and spatula in the other.

"Three is plenty," Mrs. McCall said, apparently having realised that she wasn't going to get out of the house without pancakes.

Placing the pancakes onto another plate, Julian passed them over and set them on the kitchen island next to where Scott was seated. "I swear, I can cook," he assured her as she took a seat on the barstool.

"They smell delicious," she said politely, taking the maple syrup Scott had passed her. "How was your night?" she asked her son. "Alan said that you left the party early."

"The music kind of got grating after awhile," Julian informed her, pouring another cup of batter into the pan. "I was getting a headache…" He wasn't sure if she was buying any of this. It didn't look like it.

"I thought I might have an asthma attack," Scott added, his mother immediately whirling around to face him.

"But you haven't- You had your inhaler, right?" she demanded, a dangerous look in her eyes.

"It was in the Jeep," Scott attempted to reassure her. "And I didn't need it. Otherwise I would've used it."

"How was your shift?" Deaton asked, easily redirecting the conversation away from prying questions that none of them had a lie for.

Mrs. McCall rolled her eyes skywards. "Very busy," she replied. "Most of the usual; a few minor scrapes and burns, one seven year old with low blood sugar. Then around eleven we got flooded. Some LARPers, or whatever you call them, got into a real fight. We had twenty more people in the emergency room- one of them had a wand stuck in his ear. Which is admittedly preferable to where we usually have to deal with," she added in a lowered tone, shaking her head. "Apparently the princess and the Captain of the Watch got into a fight with the dragon- Oh, wait," she corrected herself. "It was a 'wyvern,'" she muttered, clearly quoting someone else's words.

"A wyvern?" Julian asked. The name was vaguely familiar; some fantasy creature if he remembered correctly.

"It's a two-legged dragon," Scott explained.

"Stiles?" his mother asked.

Scott nodded.

"Well, the _wyvern,"_ Mrs. McCall continued, "Pepper sprayed someone in the face and then it turned into a brawl; Ms. Cooper had to call the Sheriff's department."

"Why did the wyvern have pepper spray?" Julia asked, flipping the pancake over.

"Getting in character, maybe? They're poisonous," Scott explained. "They have venom and a barbed tail..." He froze, eyes widening with realisation as he looked up Julian.

The other beta stared at him in confusion for a moment before it dawned on him. "Fuck."

Mrs. McCall blinked and Deaton choked on his coffee, but Julian didn't notice. "I need to get my laptop," he said distractedly, shoving the spatula into Deaton's hand.

Scott meanwhile fumbled for his phone. "I need to call Stiles."

Julian sprinted up the stairs, mind racing.

Of course he couldn't find anything on a kanima. That was a South American lizard monster that no one had ever heard of. But a wyvern?

His family was British; there was bound to be something on dragons.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note: First off, I'm going to preemptively apologise for the Gaelic in this chapter. It's not even a full sentence but I'm not sure it's correct. The French is as far as I know (I'm really rusty, but it's literally one word).**

 **I just wanted to say thank you so much to the people who reviewed. Your feedback means a lot, and it's great to know how you're liking the story and the characters. Julian's a lot of fun to write, and I'm glad that people like him. As for other questions/comments:**

 **Deaton always struck me as having these passive-agressive moments when he's talking to people (such as when he's talking to Gerard); I really like him as a character (I think he's the reason that I actually like Father Gabriel off of The Walking Dead, which is apparently somewhat of a rarity).**

 **To the person who asked about Stiles; I'm planning on keeping him human and not getting into the emissary/Spark stuff. I'm not overly familiar with the fandom interpretation of that, and I think the pack needs some normal people around.**

 **Thanks again.**

* * *

Stiles had answered the door with bags under his eyes and a shirt that looked suspiciously similar to the one he'd been wearing the night before. Judging by the books that had crowded the desk before spilling over onto the bedroom floor, Stiles had been researching as opposed to resting. A cursory glance at the book titles revealed everything from _England's Guide to the Mystical_ to several articles on crime statistics in the county that Stiles had printed off. By turning slowly around the room, it was possible to trace Stiles' thought process; the need to find a connection to the victims giving way to research on dragons that had presumably started when Scott had called his friend an hour earlier.

Apparently Stiles had been more than serious when he said that they weren't going to give up, at the expense of his health. Sure, one sleepless night wasn't liable to kill him, but he wasn't going to function as well on low sleep.

 _Guilt makes people do funny things,_ Julian reminded himself, catching a glimpse of Sher- _former_ Sheriff Stilinski passing through the hallway.

"Did you have all these on hand?" Julian asked, gingerly picking his way through the piles of books and hastily scribbled notes to sit down on a clear spot of the floor.

"I've been doing a lot of research in my spare time," Stiles explained off-handedly. "Since Scott apparently doesn't care that being a werewolf requires research, it falls to me. I'm pretty sure some of these library books are a bit overdue... In that by now they probably count as 'stolen.'" Plopping down into a wheeled desk chair, Stiles spun around to face Julian, leaning back with his hands clasped in front of him like some kind of cartoon villain. "So, Scott mentioned something about wyverns?"

"Sort of," Julian replied, setting his bag down and pulling out his gear, then flipping open Laura's laptop and searching through the file listing for a set of journals. "I don't think Jackson's actually a wyvern; the mythology of the kanima fits-"

"Jackson confirmed as much," Stiles interrupted. "With the whole 'We're killing murderers' speech that he gave before he Loony Tunes-ed it through the wall."

Julian gritted his teeth together in mild annoyance before continuing. "Kanimas are rare, and a lot of the books are _old._ Before trade between South America and Britain became regular, there wouldn't be any reason for them to have the same name before that point," he said, silently grimacing at his own mistake. He'd stuck with the more recent information figuring that the multiple sources would be more reliable, and in doing so he may have overlooked critical information.

 _Too late now,_ he reminded himself.

Stiles spoke, breaking Julian from his thoughts. "And you think that what Allison's family classified as a kanima might be what yours called a wyvern."

"We're British," Julian said with a slight shrug. "If someone saw a giant lizard murdering people, it makes sense that they would've called it that."

"And there might be something in there that tells us how to take care of Jackson?"

"Hopefully." Glancing up from the computer screen to pull his notebook out of his bag, Julian caught sight of an article detailing violent assaults in Beacon Hills from 2004-2007 lying on the floor. "Looking for the master?" he asked Stiles.

Stiles nodded, excitement in his eyes as he gestured at one of the many papers on the floor. "I have a lead… kinda. My dad noticed that all the victims were on the swim team. Specifically the 2006 one. And Mr. Lahey was the coach," he said, grabbing a book off his desk and opening it to show Julian. "Which means that they did all know each other, and they all knew Mr. Creepy Monologue from last night."

"Any idea who that is though?" Julian asked, motioning for Stiles to flip the book around so that it wasn't upside down.

Hurriedly rotating the book, Stiles frowned. "I've been looking at police reports; assaults, kidnapping, pranks, murders… Our town is _really_ violent considering how small it is," he added distractedly. "Anyways, I'm trying to find something that would lead us to the murderer. You'd think if someone is mad enough to go around murdering people they must've reported _something."_

Julian arched an eyebrow, eyes not wavering from the faces in the yearbook Stiles was holding. "Where did you get these files anyways?" he asked. "Actually, if it's a crime, don't tell me. I'm not going to be an accomplice."

The fact that Stiles didn't say anything was telling.

After a moment, the lanky haired teen frowned, glanced around his room, then back to Julian. "Where's Scott?" he asked, apparently having just noticed that his friend hadn't followed them inside.

"He went to meet with Derek," Julian said, not bothering to hide the bemused smile at Stiles' genuinely confused expression. "Derek still seems to think Scott may have keeled over in the middle of the night, and Derek wanted to talk. Pack meeting and all that shit," he muttered half-to-himself.

"You weren't invited or are you just not in the mood for family bonding?"

"Does it make me a bad little brother if I say I'd rather translate the ravings of a lunatic?" Julian asked, finally landing on what he was looking for. He sighed as he opened the text. Harrison Hale may have protected his stretch of Scotland for near thirty years, but to say he was a reliable narrator was a stretch. "Who knows? Maybe there'll be something in here that's not utter nonsense."

"You know, optimism isn't really your strong suit," Stiles commented wryly, grabbing some of the papers he'd printed off and snatching a green and red pen from under a book on his right.

"Well I can't exactly sketch the kanima to death. And it's complicated," Julian responded. "I found this a while back, but I thought it was useless; the thing had wings and shit, and the guy who wrote this was on Monkshood Brew. It's alcohol," he explained, catching Stiles' confused look.

"Can werewolves even get drunk?" Stiles mused, glancing up from the book on his lap. "I mean, wouldn't you heal? Scott drank like half a bottle of scotch and nothing happened."

"This stuff isn't like normal alcohol. It's basically moonshine mixed with wolfsbane extract," Julian told Stiles. "A few people still make it; one of my aunts had a shack out in the woods. It's not that bad if you know what you're doing; just getting drunk with more tingling. Get the mix wrong and instead of getting drunk you're having hallucinations. Put a little too much in and then you're coughing up black blood. The wolfsbane is bad enough on its own but the alcohol gets it into the bloodstream even faster." Julian trailed off, drumming his fingers on the keyboard. "Which is why Great Great Great Grandpa Harrison drawing dragons because he was drunk off his ass again seemed like a more reasonable explanation than Jackson not having grown into his wings yet."

"But he did write about dragons," Stiles said curiously. "So there might be something in there that can help."

"Well, I better not be translating this if there isn't," Julian muttered, glaring at the heavy, sloppy writing that filled the entire screen. His Gaelic was rusty enough to cause difficulty without him worrying about whether he was looking at an 's' or an 'e'. He suspected that his great grandfather could've gotten away with just writing his journal in English without having to worry about anyone reading it; just reading the man's normal printing was akin to deciphering code.

Stiles grinned crookedly at Julian's frustrated expression. "You have fun with that," he said with a grin, hefting a large stack of papers up. "I'll handle the detective work, okay?"

"Have fun, Sherlock."

* * *

Two hours later, and 'Let me handle the detective work' had turned into numerous cuss words and Stiles slamming his head into whatever flat surface was closest.

"Nothing!" Stiles exclaimed irritably. "Absolutely nothing. The only deaths in the school in 2006 were a teacher with cancer and an eleventh grader killed in an accident who they dedicated the yearbook to."

"That's a possibility, isn't it?" Julian asked, staring at the screen with his pen tapping against the paper as he tried to translate the next sentence. _Upon… being…_ He hesitated, the tip of the pen moving from the page to his mouth as he tried to remember his verbs. "Someone lost a family member and thought the swim team was involved?"

"Sure, if the swim team was somehow responsible for a lightning strike. In Spain." Stiles frowned, balling his hands up in frustration as he leaned dangerously far back in his chair. His furious glare was directed at the screen of his laptop; as though he could magically turn the police reports he was studying into something helpful. "The master said that _they_ were the victim, but there's nothing. Not in the reports, in the papers... Which means that apparently they didn't report anything. But why?"

"Maybe they were scared?" Julian offered. He was completely aware that Stiles was just using him as a sounding board, and he was fine with that. Stiles was smart and this was his area, but he was also sleep deprived and had been staring at the same information for hours on end. "If the swim team won the championship they would've been popular." _Cuir gu bàs,_ he read with a frown. The phrase was familiar, but he couldn't place it. Still gnawing on his pen, he moved to the end of the sentence, hoping for something to help clarify.

"If it was someone younger, or less popular… Another student…" Stiles murmured, leaning forwards and massaging his temples. "But why would the swim team nearly kill someone? If it happened on school property, then they would've had to file a report. And why else would Mr. Lahey be involved?"

"Maybe the school didn't report it," Julian said, frowning as he tried to remember his verbs. _Cuir… To cook? No. This is Gaelic, not French… Why would he try and cook a kanima?_ He stared at the sentence. _'Upon being… the wyvern was born.'_

"Didn't want funding issues…" Stiles murmured. "But someone must have seen _something."_

Julian got the impression that Stiles was referring to their own need for an answer rather than the actual facts.

"He went after Lahey first; that was the victim that the killer wanted dead the most," Stiles stated, jabbing his pencil down against the paper. "The one that made him angry enough to sic Jackson the lizard monster on him. Something happened that just made him snap after five years, and he lashed out. He killed in anger; it wasn't planned like the others. They were attacked in their homes, where they worked. He was in the middle of the street; got dragged out of his car. So what did Lahey do to them that made them want to kill him?"

"He beat his son," Julian reminded him. "He wasn't exactly a nice person."

"So the guy wasn't citizen of the year material," Stiles said, waving his hand. "But this is about _killing_ someone. The kanima can only go after murderers, but whoever died seems a little lively for that to be entirely true."

"Can you try hospital records?" Julian suggested. "See if there was anyone injured in that age group in a suspicious way? I'm pretty sure they have to make a report if they think there might have been a crime involved."

"I could ask Scott to distract his mom…" Stiles murmured thoughtfully, a plan forming in his head. "Have to be careful though. Scott's mom will kill me if we do…"

Julian went to respond but stopped as Stiles' words sunk in. _Kill,_ Julian realised, eyes widening as he remembered the translation. _Cuir gu bàs. Put to death._ "Upon being put to death the wyvern was born," he mouthed silently, the words as thick and heavy in his mouth as they'd been written on the page in front of him.

Julian's eyes reluctantly went to the creature Harrison Hale had drawn on the bottom of the page, stomach churning uneasily as he took in the heavy pencil on the sheet. Deeply troubled and rarely reliable he may have been, but Harrison had been an excellent artist, and the lizard coiled at the bottom of the page was no exception. The narrow, inhuman eyes seemed to swivel to face Julian as the dark haired teen took in the oily scales and lithe body, long claws dripping in black liquid as its leathery wings stretched outward.

"We can't kill Jackson," Julian said, his voice too quiet and the world much too loud as he _looked_ at the drawing. At the dark scales. Reptilian eyes. The poison that seeped from its every pore. They were having enough trouble with Jackson already... If he turned into the _thing_ on the page... Not only would they likely be killed going up against it, but Jackson would lose himself to the monster he became, unable to turn back or regain control. Another victim to the master's quest for revenge.

"Yeah, 'we're the good guys' and all that," Stiles hummed distractedly. "Which is why I need to find out why whoever…" He paused. Human though he may have been, Stiles could still sense the unease in the room, and he looked up to see Julian's pale face.

"No," Julian said, shaking his head vehemently. "I mean we _can't_ let him die. The kanima… It's not… If Jackson dies, then the kanima evolves."

"You mean like Pikachu, Darwin or a butterfly?" Stiles questioned, his lighthearted tone clearly forced. "Because as much as I hate Jackson, I'm not going to begrudge him some time in a chrysalis."

Julian turned the screen around to show Stiles. "You might want to reconsider."

"That's… That's what Jackson turns into if we kill him?" Stiles asked, his voice coming out higher than normal. "That's… Shit."

Julian thought that summed it up rather accurately.

* * *

Even with the looming threat of a lizard monster running across the field, lacrosse was boring. Julian gave up on feigning interest after ten minutes and returned to the notebook on his lap and the laptop to his right. After he'd found what he was looking for, it wasn't difficult to piece together the tragic tale of Bellamy Goodman. From the Hale family records to the public ones he'd found on the Internet, a story not dissimilar to that of the priest came to form.

A forty year old widower, Bellamy had three daughters and no sons. His eldest died the day she got married; mauled by a bear some said. Harrison had determined that the death was likely supernatural, and later Hales came to suspect that there was a wendigo in the area. Scotland grew cold in the winter, and food was often scarce. Kelly Goodman would've been a juicy hamburger at the time for something like that.

Harrison reported that Bellamy had gone after his daughter's husband- a beta in a pack a few miles away. When the Alpha found a member of his pack torn to shreds and dumped in the river, he went after Bellamy. Bellamy survived the attack but was bitten in the process. The Alpha had been hoping the bite would kill him as it so often did with older people. Harrison went on to call the Alpha a 'fool who couldn't finish a job if his life depended on it,' and given what happened after, Julian couldn't really blame him for being angry.

Harrison's daughter, Alice, later came to suspect that the virus that made her family turn into wolves had been mutated in Goodman. Instead of a wolf, he became an abomination that raided the local jail and tore apart most of the inmates, only fleeing when one of the guards managed to throw a lantern at him. Harrison cornered him a couple of days later in the middle of the woods. A man half-dragon, half-human.

 _'It was as though to men stood before us. One moment he was a man with no soul; a monster. Then he looked down at his bloodied hands and it was as though he came back to himself. I sense no falsehood from him, and Antoinette believes that he may have been possessed by the monster inside._

 _'He wished to end his life in penance for those he killed, and I did not argue, delivering him to the authorities for sentencing. The man was too dangerous to be left alive, and I do not want to have to explain so many deaths yet again. Let humans take the blame for this.'_

Bellamy Goodman was hung and died a week later. He was buried in the local cemetery in an unmarked grave. When one of the Pack went to salt the ground and burn the remains, they discovered the grave empty aside from some liquid that everyone was too afraid to touch. _Blood of the damned,_ some of the more superstitious called it.

In the end, it took an alliance between three packs in the surrounding area to finally drive the monster into a circle of mountain ash. The emissaries tried, but could not find a strain of wolfsbane that the man would heal from, and ended up handing him over to a group of hunters. From what little Julian could find after that, it seemed that the kanima could only die if it wished to, and it wasn't until the creature was severed from reality that they were able to defeat it. Whatever 'severed from reality' actually meant. Julian was fairly sure that the hunters had somehow managed to break the connection between the 'dragon' and its master, but the Hales had wanted nothing to do with hunters, and thus any information that they gained from the case of Goodman wasn't included.

Julian was looking through the files for any scraps of information in the Williams Pack Journals when someone sat down next to him.

Julian didn't have to look up to know it was Allison. The light perfume and ankle-high boots were enough of a giveaway as it was. He almost smiled as he looked up; the faint wolfsbane wasn't enough to cause a problem for a werewolf, but it would help mask some of her scent from anyone trying to track her. Apparently Allison was prepared to deal with a kanima. His smile was gone though as he took in Allison's tight-lipped smile and tired eyes. There was something off, Julian realised quickly. Allison's normally composed posture was _too_ perfect. Too stiff and manufactured. Like a thin casing that would break apart should any pressure be applied. And her hands were too tight, like she needed something to hold on to.

"Not a lacrosse fan?" Allison asked, pretending not to have noticed Julian's analytical gaze, her smile not entirely reaching her eyes before it dropped down once again.

"Not really. This lovely story is actually a nice change," Julian responded, his narrowed eyes telling the girl that he could see through her veneer of calm. But it wasn't his place to say anything, and Allison seemed like the type of person who talked when she was ready and never before. "You?"

"I always preferred football. Or judo," Allison admitted. The smile was more genuine that time, but the strain was still there. Her eyes flicked over to where Scott stood on the field before turning back to Julian. "I'm not sure what you heard about last night…" she began uncertainly.

"You thought they could help; you didn't know we had a plan," Julian said with a shrug. "I get it. You just wanted to keep everyone alive."

"We're in over our heads," Allison said, shaking her head. "And I thought… There's a child in the hospital that is an orphan now because we couldn't stop him… Jackson is important, but he's not more important than the lives of his victims." She hesitated, tucking a strand of dark, curly hair behind her ear. "I didn't know you guys were going to try something else… If I had…"

"Considering how that worked out, you were probably the smart one," Julian responded with a somewhat bitter smile.

"That's unlikely," Allison said quietly, gaze dropping and her hands tightening around her arms. Taking a breath, her eyes met Julian's and her nerves melted away into seriousness. "Lydia dragged me here," she explained. "She's going to invite Jackson to her party tomorrow."

"I thought they were broken up or something."

"I've given up on trying to understand the inner workings of Lydia Martin lately," Allison said, her lips quirking briefly upward. "We haven't… I haven't really had a chance to explain everything yet… She just- She needs this. A chance to get back to normal." There was something almost wistful in Allison's tone for a moment, but it was as though she knew that she was dreaming of something impossible. "I was going to ask you guys to come. Even if Jackson doesn't show up, it'll be nice. We need a break from all this, a…"

"Sanity check?" Julian suggested.

"Yeah. A sanity check," she said, nodding slowly. "With everything that's been going on, I think we could all use one."

"Considering how our last party went, you might not want to get your hopes up," Julian said, only half-joking as he turned back to the lacrosse field. He could see Scott tagging along after Jackson over near the left. "How was your date, anyways?" he asked, trying to keep the conversation lighter even if just for a moment.

It had the opposite affect. The brunette barked out a laugh and her head fell back for a moment, as though she'd forgotten about a weight and he'd just thrown it back on her shoulders.

"That bad?" Julian asked, looking back to her with an apologetic expression.

"You could say that," Allison said, her smile devoid of humour or positivity. "Not sure it's really sufficient, but…"

"On a scale of 'He was a dick' to…"

"He's-" Allison hesitated again, considering something, then shaking her head. "Let's just say that I'm not going to be having a second date with him."

"Hey, if you have any trouble, just make sure he knows how many guns your father owns," Julian said, raising an eyebrow and grinning crookedly. "Or introduce him to your mom. Scott's scared shitless of her."

The laugh was faint but it was genuine, and Julian's crooked smile softened. While Gerard was terrifying and _Kate_ was... Julian scowled and pushed thoughts of that monster out of his head as he studied the girl next to him. Allison was tough but she was also nice, and she cared about her friends. Even if they weren't close, he liked her.

She hadn't meant for things to go wrong at the rave, and even if she hadn't called her family in, Jackson still would've gotten out. It wasn't her fault, and Julian knew where she was coming from. Plus, she didn't trust Gerard either, and sometimes Julian got the impression that he scared Allison as much as anyone else.

It was her father that Allison had trusted to make the right decision; it was him that she had always wanted to tell. Back when Jackson had gotten loose, she had wanted to call in him. And even if the man had threatened Scott, the beta was still alive. Stiles had mentioned that the hunter was there when everything with Peter and Kate went down, and how Chris Argent had apparently chosen the code over his sister.

With the description of 'tall, short hair and scary,' Julian suspected that Chris was also the man that had prevented Gerard from killing him.

Allison hadn't been wrong then when she'd said that they needed help, and she wasn't wrong now either.

Julian reached into his pocket and spun the USB key around in his fingers, staring at his laptop screen. His mother would've told him that it was a bad idea. A terrible one. That stretching out a hand can easily end up with you on the ground with a gun to your head, followed swiftly by a bullet in the brain of everyone you cared about.

His father would've argued. The man, not the monster he'd become... he would have said that sometimes risk is necessary. That cooperation is necessary to keep a balance. That refusing to talk simply meant that when one death happened that more would follow.

But his father had trusted the Argents. He'd trusted Gerard…

 _Clouded eyes; red rims around the familiar blue. Pianist's hands covered in the blood of those he called family. Shaking as he stood in the hall, Derek grabbing Cora and Julian, dragging them backwards as Talia ran into the front of the house with eyes blazing._

Julian frowned, refocusing on the man. Not the monster.

His father. Not the Demon Wolf.

 _He was nine years old, sitting cross-legged on the living room carpet. There was paint on his hands and in his hair, and his father was laughing as he lifted his son up with ease._

 _"Jules, you know the paint goes on the canvas," he said, studying his son's bright blue hands, making sure that they didn't come close to his shirt._

 _Julian looked at his father with confused eyes. "It's on the canvas," he defended, pointing at the black wolf he'd spent the entire afternoon painting. The white around the muzzle looked more grey than anything else since he hadn't waited long enough for the paint to dry, but he thought it was good other than that._

 _"Yes, well self-portrait means painting a picture of yourself, not painting yourself," his father said, fondly trying to rub some of the green paint out of his son's dark hair. It only made the issue worse; turning the dab into a long streak of vibrant green._

 _"Are you heading out?" Talia was standing in the doorframe, her brow creased with worry as she studied the two of them._

 _The fond smile on his father's face slid away. "We're meeting at the distillery soon," he replied, shifting his grip on his son and fully turning to face his fellow Alpha._

 _"Duke, do I really need to tell you again what a bad idea this is?" Talia asked. The question was rhetorical. They all knew he was going. What she really meant was 'promise me you'll be careful.'_

 _His father nodded solemnly. "I know, but I think we have a chance here."_

 _The smile on Talia's lips was sad. "Optimism is only admirable to a point. Then it becomes foolishness," she stated._

 _"Perhaps. But risk is necessary to ensure the future," the sandy haired man said, setting his son back down and ruffling his hair. "And I'm willing to risk my life for a chance at peace. If I wasn't, what kind of Alpha would I be?"_

Clamping his eyes shut, Julian wondered if he was going to regret the decision he was about to make.

 _I'm willing to risk my life for a chance at peace._

Julian pulled the USB out of his pocket and jammed it into the laptop. His father had died seven years ago. Remembering the monster that took his place wasn't going to honour his memory.

 _Risk is necessary, sometimes._

Biting his lip, Julian studied the girl next to him. Allison was a million miles away, her heeled boot tapping against the metal of the bleachers with an insistent _clink._

He trusted her. Even after all that her family had done to his, he trusted her. Scott trusted her. He trusted Scott.

Julian added several files to the USB, and hesitated for a moment with his finger over the trackpad. Then he added an additional file. Ripping the USB out, he tapped Allison on the shoulder, the USB clamped tightly in his shaking hand.

"Do you trust your father?" he asked. "Not just for you; with Scott's life." _And mine. And Derek's,_ he almost added.

He was thankful that she didn't immediately jump to reassure him. Instead, she thought about it for a moment. Then nodded. "He follows the code," she said softly before continuing in a stronger tone, "My aunt was the first hunter I saw, and she said that werewolves were monsters. And she treated them- you- like that. Like animals. I… She almost turned me into _her._ My dad saved me from that," she said, blinking away the tears that were threatening to form. "I trust him," she said, no trace of doubt in her voice.

Julian handed Allison the USB key and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Thank you," Allison said seriously, turning the flash drive over in her hands.

Julian jerked his head down in an approximation of a nod before drawing in a breath, trying to ignore the light feeling that was spreading through his limbs. _No turning back now. Not anymore,_ he told himself. _No more running either._ Squeezing his arms tightly once more, he then uncrossed his arms and looked Allison in the eye.

A wordless understanding passed between the two of them as their eyes met and Allison gave him a curt nod, tucking the USB into her pocket.

Allison went to speak, only to be interrupted by her name being called out.

The two turned to spot Lydia Martin waiting at the bottom of the bleachers with an impatient look on her face. "Are you coming or not? You have dresses to try on," the redhead reminded her friend.

Allison looked skywards for a moment, her grin betraying her air of annoyance. "I should go," she said, shaking her head slightly as she stood up. "I'll see you guys at the party then?"

Julian nodded. "We'll be there around eight?"

"Seven thirty," Lydia corrected primly, somehow capable of projecting her voice across the stands without shouting. "And make sure that you change first."

* * *

"Remind me again where you learned to do that," Stiles said, looking at the cupcake in Julian's hand with a surprised expression.

"My sister's boyfriend owns a bakery," Julian responded, focused intently on the petals he was forming with the icing pipe. "I worked there for a couple of summers. You'd be surprised how much more you can charge for a flower than a pile of icing."

"It's cool," Scott said, glancing up briefly to look at the rose forming on the cupcake before returning to the yearbook in front of them. "So you think that the master wants to kill the swim team?"

"Two is a coincidence, three is a pattern, and four is…" Stiles broke off, mouthing the words again as he tried to remember what came fourth. "Well, fourth means that the kanima wants to murder the swim team. It makes sense, right? The fear of water. The swim team."

Julian pushed the icing pip back down again, then studied the paper in front of Stiles. It was a list of names which were colour-coded with either blue, yellow or red highlighter. "So blue means that they left town after graduating?" he asked.

"Blue means that they left town," Stiles corrected. "Not just after graduating. A couple people moved before that and you don't have any other markers that you'd let me use."

Julian narrowed his eyes and stopped piping the icing. "If you try to use my copic markers for highlighting, Stilinski, I will strangle you."

Gulping audibly, Stiles held Julian's gaze for a few seconds before he cleared his throat and marked a name in yellow.

Scott tried unsuccessfully to stifle his laughter, receiving an eye roll from his best friend in return. Now grinning unabashedly, Scott tapped the face of one of the students in the yearbook. "She left town to become an orthodontist. She used to live down the street from me."

Nodding, Stiles flipped through a couple of pages before he found the name and crossed it off.

"How many does that leave?" Julian asked, setting the cupcake down and moving on to the next one.

"Seventy nine," Stiles stated dejectedly. "Why couldn't we live in a smaller town?"

"Seventy eight," Scott corrected. "This guy moved to Switzerland a few months ago."

"Still not enough," Stiles pointed out.

"Seventy six," Julian said, nodding at the yearbook. "I met those two at a grocery store in Lawrence. They moved about six months ago."

Crossing out the names, Stiles set the highlighter down to pick up his phone. "My dad's going to be late," he said, frowning as he studied the screen. "I think he's interviewing people who went to school around then."

"That's good, right?" Scott said, trying to sound encouraging. "Between all of us, we might be able to find something."

"Something other than 'unkillable monster' would be nice," Julian muttered.

Stiles nodded in agreement. "If that bastard screws up Lydia's party…"

"Do we even know if he's going?" Scott pointed out. "I mean, he did sort of dump her because he thought he was going to be a werewolf. And they sort of spend every moment at school purposely not looking at each other. Why would he go?"

"Why would she invite him?" Julian questioned.

"We need to be sure," Stiles insisted. "What if he does and he turns? Someone has to be there for Lydia!"

"And the other party guests," Scott reminded him, smiling slightly.

"What? Yeah, of course. But, I mean, it's her house. And…"

Julian rolled his eyes.

"Hey, you have no idea how long it took me to find the perfect present! I can't give it to her if Jackson rips her apart," Stiles said.

"Lydia wasn't part of the 2006 swim team," Scott said, frowning slightly. "And there's no reason for the master to make Jackson go to some high school birthday party."

"We should go anyways" Julian said.

Blinking in surprise at Julian's unexpected support of Stiles, "You _hate_ parties," Scott said slowly, raising an eyebrow. "You spent most of last night looking like you were going to kill the DJ."

"I hate shitty music," Julian corrected. "And I also hate raspberry cupcakes. I'm not letting these go to waste." That, and Allison was right. They needed a sanity check. Working constantly would only wear them out and could result in them missing something important. Besides, Stiles wasn't wrong. Jackson could show up. Julian got the sense that _something_ could happen, and it was better to go and have nothing happen than miss a murder. Even if going meant he was making raspberry cupcakes.

"She likes strawberries better," Stiles muttered, flipping through a few papers.

"Yeah, well Deaton didn't have any strawberries and _you_ said I couldn't show up without a gift," Julian pointed out, jabbing the icing bag accusatorily at Stiles. "So raspberry it is."

"I like raspberry," Scott commented idly, gaze focused on the yearbook in front of him.

"They're not for you," Julian responded. "Otherwise they'd have lacrosse sticks or something instead of flowers."

"You can make lacrosse stick cupcakes?" Scott asked, grinning like there was something funny about the idea.

"If I can make tractor cupcakes," Julian said, meeting Scott's amused gaze with a stubborn frown, "I can manage lacrosse sticks."

"Getting back on topic," Stiles interrupted, looking at the two of them with an annoyed expression. "We've got two more hours before we have to go, so if you don't mind, we have a murderer to catch. A murderer, I will remind you, in charge of a monster that can only be killed by itself, apparently. So maybe we worry less about cupcakes and more about who we need to look for if Jackson does show up to Lydia's."

"I was going to suggest 'running for the hills,'" Scott joked.

"The kanima said that he couldn't kill us," Julian reminded Stiles. "That he could only kill murderers so far. If he could kill anyone, he would've shredded us when we were stuck in the room with him."

"How reassuring," Stiles muttered.

"Exactly," Julian said with false confidence. "What are the chances that Jackson will actually show up at Lydia's?"

Scott grinned. "About the same as Stiles getting a date with her."


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note: Couple of quick things: Yes, Deucalion is Julian's father. I'm going with Talia calling him 'Duke' in flashbacks because 'Deucalion' felt awkward in casual/familial conversation. Also, the song near the end of this chapter is _Starry Starry Night_ or _Vincent_ by Don McLean. **

**Thanks again.**

* * *

"I thought this party was supposed to be the biggest of the year," Julian commented as he followed Scott through the house out to the backyard. "I know the town is small, but I've been to seven year old's birthdays more rowdy than this." When Scott and Stiles had spent the ride over in the Jeep going on about the first Lydia Martin party they'd attended, they'd spoke of people everywhere, alcohol flowing, and music blaring. And Scott turning into a werewolf after nearly killing his girlfriend, but Julian doubted that was a regular occurrence.

This time was different, apparently. And not just because Scott wasn't wolfing out.

There was alcohol; Lydia had wasted no time in shoving punch glasses into their hands (which Julian was hoping was a sign of her being a good host, and not her implying that they weren't going to be any fun sober), and there was music. But the music, while not entirely horrible, was quiet and there was no trace of people talking within earshot. There was no trace of people at all. The halls of the house were totally empty, and the refreshments table in the kitchen seemed to be untouched.

"Everyone will be in the backyard," Scott replied, raising an eyebrow as Stiles hurried over, apparently having managed to get his massive present through the door.

"Of course. Because drunk high school students are renowned for their silent parties," Julian muttered, stuffing his hands in his pockets. As per Lydia's request, he'd changed. The jeans were black, his shirt was grey, and the jean jacket (which had been selected because it covered the yellow paint stain on the shirt) was black as well. Lydia hadn't thrown him out after giving him a once-over, so he was going to take that as approval. Or that it wasn't bad enough to warrant a disdainful look.

Scott had changed as well, but the dark jacket and mint-coloured button-up made him look like he was actually going to a party as opposed to a concert, or in Stiles' case, a birthday party for someone much younger. Though Stiles had insisted that the plaid shirt was, in fact, different from the one he'd been wearing before (something about this one having vertical green stripes and the other having blue horizontal stripes), it wasn't quite up to par with the standard Lydia and Scott had set.

"Exactly," Stiles said, surveying the empty halls pointedly, then turning back to his friend "I'm sure the lack of music and voices is a good sign. Mind you, I haven't been to many parties, so I might be a little inexperienced in this kind of thing," he added in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

Scott rolled his eyes and pushed open the door to the patio to reveal a pool lit by twinkling lights on strings. The whole place looked like a team of people had been planning the event instead of one; the colour-coordinated table covers, the fountain of punch surrounded by perfect stacks of glasses. It was like a movie set as opposed to someone's actual birthday party.

Although _party_ was a bit of stretch seeing as there was no one else there.

"Maybe we're just early," Scott suggested, shifting his weight as he took in the completely empty yard.

"It's almost nine," Julian stated.

"Maybe we're late?"

"What, the party was at three?" Stiles retorted as he rapidly scanned the yard; moving to grab Scott's arm as he spotted Allison standing over near the punch fountain.

Scott spotted his sort-of-girlfriend and cleared his throat awkwardly as she made her way over, heels clicking on the stone patio. In the empty yard, it felt like a much longer walk than it probably was.

Allison was clearly no more comfortable than Scott was; her gaze kept dropping whenever it neared his face, and she took several seconds to smooth out her dress before she managed to find her voice. "Jackson's not here," she informed them, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Yeah, no one's here," Stiles said, spreading his arms wide to gesture at the empty yard.

"I'm sure people will be here soon," Scott reassured them.

Julian wondered if he really believed that.

Stiles clearly didn't. "Or maybe no one's coming because Lydia's turned into the town whack job," he said, gaze darting over to where Lydia stood, pouring punch into glasses for people that weren't coming. Catching the four people staring at her, she quickly looked away, biting her lip and adding another row to her punch tower.

Allison let out a soft sigh, pity in her eyes when she turned to the three guys in front of her. "Well we have to do something because we've completely ignored her for the past to weeks," she stated, nodding to herself as though to reaffirm the statement.

Scott raised his eyebrows. "She's completely ignored Stiles the past ten years."

Allison's uncomfortable smile softened for a second and Julian snorted, the two of them receiving a withering look from Stiles. "I prefer to think of it as me not having been on her radar," he corrected.

"We don't owe her a party," Scott said, his amusement turning to seriousness as he met Allison's gaze.

"What about a chance to get back to normal?" she suggested.

Looking at her incredulously, "Normal?" Scott questioned.

"She wouldn't be the town whack job if it wasn't for us," Stiles reminded his friend with a reluctant sigh.

"She'd be the dead town whack job if it wasn't for us," Julian muttered. Catching the look Allison gave him for the unhelpful comment he awkwardly cleared his throat. "But we should help her," he amended quickly. "It's not her fault she got dragged into this."

"And given that we've been lying to her about the biggest secret in town for the past few months, I think we owe her _something,"_ Allison added, her confidence growing as she went on. "She's my best friend, and I haven't been living up to my end of that. So can you please help me out and do something nice for her?"

Scott lasted about five seconds before pulling his phone out of his pocket. "I guess I could use my co-captain status to get the lacrosse team here," he conceded.

"Yeah, I also know some people who can get this thing going. Like _really_ going," Stiles added.

Three heads swivelled to regard him with various levels of skepticism. It wasn't that Stiles was antisocial, he just wasn't popular and he tended to hang out in the same circles as Scott. The thought of him hanging out with a bunch of party-goers required a stretch of the imagination.

Even Scott, who knew Stiles better than anyone else, looked confused. "Who?"

"I met them the other night," Stiles said cagily. "Let's just say they know how to party."

* * *

The group did, in fact, know how to party. How Stiles had gotten the numbers of half of the club was beyond Julian, but it was good he had. Within fifteen minutes, the music was much louder, the punch was freely flowing and there were at least forty people in and around the house as opposed to four. An hour later, and the noise had attracted even more people; a smiling Lydia slipping through the crowd in her second dress of the night. It felt good to bring a smile to someone's face. Even if that someone seemed to be purposefully avoiding them ever since more people had showed up.

Not the partying kind, Julian, Scott and Stiles were tucked in a mostly quiet section of the yard. Scott was seated on a planter of some kind, staring blankly at a spot a few feet in front of him, with Julian and Stiles leaning against the wall as the party whirled around them.

Staring at the half-filled punch glass in his hand, Julian took a sip of the fruity mixture, watching the dancers with disinterest. Stiles seemed more engaged and was even bobbing with the beat. After catching sight of Allison in the crowd, talking to someone Julian vaguely recognised from his art class, Stiles nudged Scott with his foot.

"Are you gonna apologise to Allison or what?" the lanky teen questioned.

Scott's brow furrowed as he looked up. "Why should I apologise?"

"Because you're the guy," Stiles responded, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "It's like, what we do."

"But I didn't do anything wrong," Scott argued.

"Well then you should definitely apologise. See, anytime a guy thinks he hasn't done anything wrong it means that he's _definitely_ done something wrong," Stiles said, nodding sagely before turning to the dark haired teen on his left. "Come on, Julian. Back me up here."

"Not my area," Julian said with a shrug. "My sister was pretty blunt about anytime her boyfriend screwed up, and the last time I dated someone it ended… badly."

"How badly?" Scott asked, trying to steer the conversation away from his relationship with Allison.

"I _may_ have broken his nose," Julian said slowly.

Scott stared blankly at him for a moment. "On purpose or by accident?"

"On purpose in that I meant to punch him. Accidental in that I was aiming for his jaw."

Scott snorted into his punch glass.

Julian narrowed his eyes at Scott's reaction. "Hey, I told him that he should've locked himself up on the full moon," he said defensively. "But he kept saying that the theatre would be too busy later and something about a test. So I said fine. Then we were about to drive back home and the moron shifted, tried to eat my face," he continued, shaking his head at the memory. "And not in the fun way," he finished with a crooked grin.

Smiling broadly, Scott went to say something but was interrupted by the sound of the opening riff of _Sugar We're Goin' Down._

Digging through his pocket for his phone, Julian stared at the caller display in annoyance for several seconds before he pressed _Accept._

"What do you want?" he asked.

 _"Why the hell isn't Scott answering his phone?"_ Derek demanded.

Julian shrugged and looked over to Scott. "Why aren't you answering your phone?" he asked him.

Briefly confused, Scott went to grab his phone while Derek cursed on the other end of the line.

 _"Will you-"_ There was a pause, and Julian could easily picture his brother trying to take a deep breath while massaging his temple with his free hand. _"I may need a bit of help,"_ Derek admitted reluctantly. _"Isaac, Boyd and Erica might have a chance of getting loose."_

"What? How? I thought you chained them up?" Julian broke off as the realisation hit him, and he stared at the sky in exasperation. "You really thought the rickety old subway car would hold them?"

 _"I thought the multiple chains would hold them,"_ Derek snapped. _"And it's a little late for this now, isn't it? So can you just-"_

Derek broke off and Julian could hear a loud crash in the background. "Derek? Are you-"

Before Derek could respond, Stiles grabbed Julian by the shoulder, frantically pulling him sideways and gesturing wildly at the crowd, nearly causing Julian to drop his phone. He went to glare at Stiles only to find the other teen pale as a ghost, pointing at someone in the crowd. While it took Julian a moment to spot him, he already knew who Stiles was warning him about.

It was like watching a horror movie; knowing that the person on screen was about to slowly turn to find the murderer standing behind them. Except this time Julian was the idiot who bought the haunted house and the murderer was a jackass of a lacrosse player possessed by someone living as opposed to a ghost.

"Derek, we can't come," Julian said, realising that his brother was back on the other end of the line, cursing loudly. "Jackson's here," Julian explained, the words heavy on his tongue as he stared at the tall blonde boy; whose dull blue eyes surveyed the crowd with the disinterest of a predator.

 _"What? Where's here?"_

"Lydia's party. At her house. Look, Derek, can you handle them? Or-"

 _"Keep an eye on Jackson."_ There was another loud crash in the background. _"I can take care of this,"_ Derek growled. They both knew that he was lying, but Julian couldn't go get him. Not with Jackson in a house full of potential victims. They'd failed to stop him at the rave, but he wasn't going to get away this time.

At the same time, Julian couldn't help but be reminded of the hole in the sheet metal. If Jackson did attack, he doubted they'd be able to stop him. Just as Derek wouldn't be able to take three three newly transformed betas on his own.

 _Dammit._

"I'll be there in ten minutes," Julian said decidedly, pulling the phone away from his ear before Derek could argue.

"Do you think the master is here?" Stiles asked quietly as Julian ended the call. The brunette's eyes wide eyes were darting frantically around the yard, always coming back to Jackson, and his foot was rapidly tapping against the pavement. "I mean, some of the people here look like they're in their twenties. Do you see anyone suspicious?"

"I need to warn Allison," Scott said, standing up and dropping his half-empty punch glass onto the ground.

"We'll keep an eye on him," Julian reassured the other beta.

Bobbing his head in agreement, Stiles distractedly waved back at the house. "She went inside," he told Scott.

Scott hurried off, brow creased with worry, leaving his friends standing near the window; one drumming his fingers on his thigh, the other shifting his weight rapidly from foot to foot.

Slowly, methodically, Jackson turned around, blue eyes landing on the two of them and staying there. His head tilted slowly to the side as he wordlessly studied them.

"That's not good, is it?" Stiles breathed.

Julian shook his head. "Probably not." Wincing, he closed his eyes as the world seemed to shift beneath his feet. He opened his eyes and blinked several times, attempting unsuccessfully to clear his blurry vision. Trying to focus on something else, he looked to Stiles. "I need to leave after you find Allison. Derek needs help with the betas."

"What, did the sourwolf's plan go wrong?" Stiles asked, turning his head slightly but always keeping Jackson within his sightline. As his eyes briefly flicked over to Julian, he looked almost concerned. "Hey, are you feeling okay?"

Frowning, Julian reached out to steady himself on the wall. His stomach was churning violently and the cotton of his shirt felt scratchy and heavy. There was a cloying taste in the back of his mouth, like something was burning. The last time he'd felt this sick he'd been out for a week with the flu.

"Is it the full moon?" Stiles questioned, taking a step back. "Because I really don't want you to eat anyone. Mainly me."

Julian ground his teeth together. "Stiles, I think I'm going to puke. If I was going to shift, I wouldn't be here."

Stiles pointed to a spot over to the left. "There's a planter over there," he said, blinking slowly and uneasily biting his lip. "You know, now that you mention it..." he muttered mostly to himself.

Not caring to hear the end of the sentence, Julian kept walking and slipped out of view of most of the guests to the alley-like side of the yard. There was a thin strip of grass lined by plants between the fence and the brick of the house.

Bracing himself against the house, the brick cool and steady against his hands, Julian closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. Keeping his eyes shut kept the world from spinning but the ground still felt like it was sliding out from under his feet. Like he was standing on a dock during rough weather. Even trying to use the brick wall as an anchor of kinds didn't help.

His skin was on fire; the cool air freezing against his damp skin. He couldn't tell if his legs were shaking because he was sick or because he was shivering.

"You alright?" a vaguely familiar voice called over.

Julian turned his head to lie only to have the words die on his tongue. Eyes going wide with alarm, Julian shoved himself up off of the brick, hands clenching into fists before he swayed dangerously and decided that moving was a bad idea.

The figure standing was standing a few feet away, green-grey eyes regarding Julian with dark amusement as its lips curled in a nasty smile. It was like looking at some kind of twisted reflection; it had his thick eyebrows, wide jaw and even the chip in his front tooth thanks to a fight with Cora. But its mannerism were wrong, as was everything else.

The jean jacket he was wearing had been replaced by a worn leather one, his normally combed-back hair was a mess of thick black waves, and when the reflection spoke, its accent was rough with rounded vowels, lacking the slight drawl Julian had picked up after six years in Lawrence. "How are you feeling? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"You're not real," Julian said, tentatively setting his feet into a fighting stance. He must have eaten something that had gone bad. Or the full moon was screwing with his head. Risking a quick glance at the garden told him that there wasn't any wolfsbane in the yard.

"You are talking to me though," his reflection stated, the nasty smile widening into a sharp-toothed sneer as it added in a mocking tone, "Or maybe you're the one who's not real and this is all in my head."

Julian squeezed his eyes shut, but the figure was still there when he opened them, shaking its head as though this were all some entertaining game.

"Did you actually think that was going to work?" it asked derisively. "I mean, _really?"_

"Go away," Julian hissed, willing the world to start making sense again.

The reflection tilted his head to the side, then closed his eyes, opening them to reveal cobalt-coloured irises. "Huh. You're still here."

Julian took a step back, trying to put some space inbetween himself and whatever hallucination was in front of him. He stumbled into someone; stepping on their foot and losing his balance. He'd have fallen if the person hadn't grabbed him by the shoulders to steady him.

Turning, Julian went to apologise, stopping dead in his tracks, jaw hanging uselessly open, as he saw the familiar necklace around the neck of the man who had caught him. He didn't want to look up but he did. Slowly bringing his gaze up to find his father's face; eyes hidden behind black sunglasses.

"Now, Jules, you know you should watch where you're going," his father chastised him, shaking his head disapprovingly. "I might not be there to catch you next time."

Julian tried to wrench himself away from his father but the man's grip held strong, and he looked more amused than anything else.

"Will you calm down?" his reflection asked irritably, sauntering over with its hands in its pockets. Eyes still shining bright blue, it cocked his head to the side. "See, it'd be easier if you just stopped worrying about everything. Do I look worried?" it asked, grinning widely and spreading its arms out to its sides. "It's amazing how much free time you have when you're not worried about being in control."

"He's got a point," his father said, looking down at Julian with his eyebrows raised. "He does look quite calm."

"I'm not going to kill anyone," Julian responded, the defiant answer coming out as a hoarse whisper. He could feel the world spinning out of control even as he desperately trying to figure out where reality had gone. "I'm not going to end up like you."

"What? Strong? Powerful?" Deucalion asked, cocking his head to the side. Keeping a tight grip on his son's shoulder, Deucalion pushed his glasses up to rest on his head, revealing red eyes; his pupils a tiny pinprick of black in a sea of scarlet. "Have you really not considered that maybe this is what control looks like?" A smile slid across the man's face. "Come on, Jules, I know you can feel it. Clawing at the back of your skull." The grip on Julian's shoulder dug in deeper. "You can't run away from who you are."

Julian stared at the thing that had once been his father. What he'd become. _I won't end up like you,_ he told himself.

"Fuck. You," he told his father.

Deucalion sighed. "Well," he said casually. "That does always leave us with option number two." With that he brought his clawed right hand off of his son's shoulder and stabbed him, claws digging deep into the flesh of Julian's stomach.

Part of Julian's mind, the practical, realistic part, knew that this couldn't be real. That his father was somewhere in Washington with his pack of murderers. That there was no way that he was standing before his son. That he was hallucinating or dreaming. That this was some twisted nightmare that had to end at some point. But if _felt_ real. The firm hand on his shoulder keeping him still as his father curled his fingers, pushing deeper into his flesh. He could taste blood at the back of his throat, and the pain running through him was screaming that he couldn't be imagining something like this.

The grip on his shoulder disappeared and Julian pitched forwards, hands shooting out to catch himself as his knees hit the stone patio.

Deucalion crouched down and slid the glasses back down over his eyes. There was no love or affection in his expression as he watched the black blood leak slowly from his sons lips. "What a waste."

When Julian tried to look up, he saw nothing. The monster was gone. Replaced by a large bush in Lydia's garden. The patio was clean of blood and the ache in his stomach was a phantom pain.

Staring at the empty void where Deucalion had been standing, Julian tried to take a deep, calming breath but failed; his lungs betraying him for a desperate gasp of air, rapidly followed by another. And another. He was hyperventilating, lungs refusing to cooperate as the world started to blur away at the edges.

Feeling the panic creeping over, Julian dug his fingers into the patio, his claws desperately trying to find a grip on the stone. On reality.

 _You need to calm down,_ Julian told himself dizzily. _Find an anchor. Anything._

 _'I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul. I am the master of my fate...'_

The words were meaningless though. The fog in his brain swamping them and swallowing them. Taking away any conviction and replacing them with a dull red void threatening to take over his vision.

Henley's poem wasn't going to cut it. Not for this.

He had to find something though.

If he didn't, he was going to kill someone.

End up like his father.

A monster wearing the face of a man.

The face of the man who had dropped his son off at kindergarten having snuck a cookie into the bright green lunchbag.

The man who had brought Julian to the pottery studio downtown and had taught him how to use the pottery wheel; weathered, calloused hands guiding small, clumsy ones.

The man who showed him how to hold a brush and promised to take him to Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam the day he turned sixteen.

The man who sat at the piano, Julian next to him, watching as his father's fingers hit the keys, singing softly along to the melody.

Some part of Julian realised that his breathing had steadied, and he seized onto that memory.

Sitting in the front room; the windows that looked out onto the green of the woods that surrounded the house, the weathered pink couch that Peter had bought as a joke, the lilies on the peeling wallpaper, and the dent where Cora had accidentally run into it while wearing a bucket on her head.

The piano was pushed back into the corner. It was an old wooden thing; the patterns carved into the wood old, chipped and worn. The pedals always squeaked if any weight was put on them and the thing had always been out of tune. Duke had spent the past month trying to tune it; insisting that he could do it himself and didn't need to hire a professional. That he was a music major and he knew to play the piano without any bloody help, thank you very much. When he finally started playing, some of the notes were noticeably off key, but Julian pretended he couldn't hear it; humming softly along. Leaning in the doorway, his mother stayed silent, a smile breaking her stony expression as Duke hit another sharp.

 _'Starry starry night,_

 _Paint your palette blue and grey_

 _Look out on a summer's day_

 _With eyes that know the darkness in my soul'_

Julian's breathing was still too fast and too shallow, but his head was clearer and the world was spinning much slower when he opened his eyes and pushed himself up onto his knees.

Gritting his teeth together, he forced himself up on shaking legs.

 _'Shadows on the hills_

 _Sketch the trees and the daffodils_

 _Catch the breeze and the winter chills_

 _In colour on the snowy linen land'_

Wiping his clammy hands on his pants, Julian risked a look down at his stomach to find nothing but grey material sticking to his skin with sweat. No trace of blood or tears in the fabric where the monster had dug in his claws.

Trying to swallow down the the bile rising at the back of his throat, Julian became suddenly conscious of the thick, bitter taste in his mouth. _Aconite poisoning,_ he realised. The cloying taste was a telling sign, and wolfsbane would explain the hallucinations, upset stomach, and the numb sensation of his tongue. He frowned, unconsciously moving onto the chorus of the song as he tried to clear his head. He had to have been exposed the wolfsbane recently, but the only thing he'd eaten since arriving at the party was the punch...

The fruity, strong-tasting punch. Fruity enough to cover the initial taste of the bitter root that had been mixed into it.

The punch that Lydia had made sure _everyone_ had drank.

Including Scott.

As well as Stiles and Allison.

Checking his fingernails, Julian was greeted by short, sharp claws where his torn fingernails had been. He took a deep breath, clenched his hands into fists, and took an unsteady step forwards. He needed to find the others. Quickly. The wolfsbane was still in his system; blurring the edges of his vision and clouding his thoughts. Sooner or later, staying human was going to become an immediate concern. But he had a small amount of time left. Enough time to check on the others.

Now that he was back near the party, he could hear that the music had been replaced by loud voices and manic laughter. Noise that felt too loud against his aching ears. The once twinkling lights felt too bright. Like miniature versions of the sun that he was squinting to block out when Scott nearly plowed into him.

"Julian!" he exclaimed, relief in his voice as he steadied the two of them, anchoring them to the ground. His warm brown eyes were slightly unfocused, and there were flecks of gold near the centre, glowing faintly in the dark night. The hands that had grabbed Julian's arms were clammy, sticking to the fabric of Julian's jacket, and there was a thin sheen of sweat on Scott's skin; his hair plastered to his forehead. "Happened to you too?" Scott asked, attempting a weak but empathetic smile.

Julian managed a nod, his stomach felt like it was planning a revolt at any time. "You alright?" The question sounded stupid as soon as he said it. If Scott had seen anything akin to what he had...

Scott laughed at that, no humour in it. "I've been better," he admitted, a wry smile breaking through the worry that engulfed him. "Everyone who drank the punch is acting..." He shook his head. "I can't find Jackson and Stiles is totally out of it; I'm going to need help sobering him up I need help sobering Stiles up," he explained, removing his hands from Julian's arm.

Julian almost said 'yes' but stopped himself. He could feel his claws digging into his palms and the fangs trying to push through his gums. He'd managed to give himself time before he shifted but he wasn't going to be able to maintain control. The moon and the punch… The issues he'd been having earlier…

"I need to get out of here," he said, the words raw in his numb mouth.

"I know it's hard, but if you concentrate-"

Julian was already shaking his head. He could see the golden pinpricks of light in the reflection in Scott's eyes. "I need to leave. Get away," he said, stepping back. "You find Stiles, alright?" The smile was forced and felt wrong, and not just because there was no feeling in his lips. He needed to put as much space between himself and the party as he could. He was going to shift no matter what at this point; the question remained how far and how much control he'd maintain.

With the wolfsbane in his system, he doubted it the odds were in his favour. Or in that of anyone he came across.

Either Scott suddenly became sensible, or the wolf part of his brain realised what Julian was and was warning him to stay back, because Scott dropped his arms. Not giving him a chance to change his mind, Julian took a running start and vaulted over the fence into the neighbour's backyard. His feet hit the ground twice and then he was over the second fence, rolling to his feet on the dried leaves and sticks of the woods that the community backed onto.

Then he was sprinting through the tree; the world slowly turning a shade of violent red that turned the forest into something out a nightmare.

Like it was lit by the same red-orange glow that it had been six years earlier.

His claws were fully extended now and he could feel the fangs pushing through his gums as the dull ache in his jaw spread; the tatters of his anchor not enough to control the shift for much longer. The song in his head was a million miles away, the same chorus repeating over and over since he couldn't remember the next verse.

If he could make it over the ravine, he wouldn't be able to get back over once he shifted. He hoped.

His legs felt brittle now; every step jarring his joints as they begged to separate and reform. A glance upwards showed the full moon large and bright in the maroon sky.

 _Just a little farther,_ he told himself, taking another step only for his leg to give out beneath him, bones breaking apart with a terrible _crack_ and a jolt of pain that brought the world back into colour for half a second.

Then it was falling away again, the red hot pain swallowing it whole as he collapsed, spine cracking and warping, vision blurring as his body tried desperately to shift.

Julian dragged in a breath, trying to hold back the scream bubbling in his throat as his shoulders popped out of their sockets and the sinew and ligaments of his muscles ripped apart. The cry broke free as his body convulsed, tearing through his throat as his bones melted and hardened, skin stretched thin over bulging joints.

The world had gone a shade of red that was painful to look at, and the sound of the trickling stream sounded like the roar of the ocean.

The ravine, Julian remembered through a fog of agony. It snaked through the preserve, dipping down into a twenty foot chasm in some places. The Sheriff's department ended up having to put fences up to warn hikers of the danger when he was eight. It was the only stream in the area.

Julian dragged himself forwards, body screaming in protest as he tried to hold the shift at bay for just a little longer. _Starry Starry Night_ was bouncing around his skull, every note a hammer strike against the bone. But it was enough. A thin wall to buy him half a minute more. Digging into the soft dirt with malformed hands, he hauled himself another foot forwards. His fingers hit the edge of the ravine; greeting him with a steep, fifteen foot slope of dirt that led down to a shallow stream. He couldn't jump it, not like this. But he wouldn't be able to get out of it either. Not shifted, at least.

 _Especially not if you break your neck on the way down,_ the practical side of his brain argued, screaming along with the wolf at the stupidity of what he was about to do.

Julian studied the drop.

It was only fifteen feet.

Rolling sideways, he felt the ground drop away and for half a second he was suspended in the air, a brief moment of flight before he slammed down, the world fading away as his broken limbs screamed in protest. The fog clouding over everything and dulling the pain.

The brief respite was just that: brief. It was his jaw finally dislocating to give way to a narrow snout that cleared the haze, his cry of pain turning into a strangled whine as his mouth reshaped itself. Rolling onto his back, body shaking with the effort, Julian looked up at the bloody sky; the moon disappearing behind the ridge of the ravine. He wasn't going to hurt anyone. Not tonight.


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note: And I'd like to thank Trig for reacquainting my head with my desk. I'm sure the company that makes Tylenol really appreciates that.**

 **On a more serious note, I'd like to say thank you so much to the people who have faved/followed, and a really big thank you to those who've been reviewing. Especially the last few chapters. I love hearing what you guys think of what's been going on.**

 **I'm hoping to get the next chapter up sometime tomorrow afternoon.**

* * *

The first thing Julian registered was the screaming. Or at least he thought it was screaming. Maybe it was; a nightmare that ha blurred into reality. Someone else's pain turning into his own as the noise continued; piercing through his skull and ripping through his ears.

His eyes shot open and Julian could see the world pulsing maroon before abruptly fading away to a dark blur. Digging his pale, human hands into the dirt, he waited until the noise fell mercifully away, replaced by the quiet of the forest around him. For several seconds he stayed like that; fingers tensed and ears anticipating for the noise to come back but it didn't. Slowly, he relaxed his grip on the dirt and simply lay on the forest floor.

It was then that he noticed was the leaf. A dried, half-decomposed thing resting on his nose and obscuring his already blurry vision. Sluggishly moving to knock it away, Julian managed only to catch his arm on something. Fabric. A blanket, he realised slowly.

With the return of his senses came awareness of the dull ache that had spread through his whole body. He felt like a sculpture someone had smashed and then tried to put back together with a crazy glue. Or a glue stick, he amended as he tried to push his head up off of the ground only to flop back to the ground, pain shooting through his limbs once more. A reminder that they had just broken apart twice in one night. Julian's healing ability wasn't great to begin with and healing the bones during a transformation was draining. It wasn't all that surprising that he felt like he'd gone three rounds with Rocky. All Julian wanted to do was lie on the ground and wait for his legs to stop hurting. That wasn't an option though. He was lying vulnerable in the middle of the forest on a full moon. He had to move eventually, and waiting wouldn't make it any easier. Or any safer.

Ignoring the protest of every limb in his body, Julian quickly pushed himself up into a seated position, swaying from side to side as the blood rushed to his head all at once. Blinking a few times helped to steady the world but did little for his the dull thumping in his head.

It was soon obvious that turning had drained more than just his healing factor. The forest was, while certainly less blurry, just as dark, and without the moon poking out from behind the clouds, Julian doubted he'd have been able to see anything. It had to be well after midnight given the dark navy tone of the sky above him.

He went to look at his watch only to find that he wasn't wearing it. Instead he was greeted with pale, dirt-covered skin with several leaves stuck to scrapes and half-dried mud. His fingernails were human; short and ragged with thick black lines where the dirt had gotten under them. The fine black hairs on his arm were standing straight up, his skin was covered in goosebumps as well as faint purple bruises around his joints, and as he turned his hand over, Julian couldn't help but notice how badly he was shivering.

Shoving his hand back under the blanket in an effort to conserve what little body heat he had, it finally occurred to him that he hadn't brought a blanket out into the middle of the woods.

Shifting back into gear, he turned, scanning for any sign of movement and trying unsuccessfully to pick up any sounds that were out of the ordinary. It was like he had cotton shoved in his ears and he couldn't clear it out. Uneasy, he instead relied on his eyes, searching for any sign of whoever had given him the blanket. Like the thermos and neatly folded pile of clothes over to his right.

While Julian's feet weren't quite numb enough that he wasn't able to feel the sticks and sharp rocks jabbing into skin, the pain felt rather faint. Pinpricks to break up an ache that encompassed his whole body.

As he neared the pile, he noticed a bright yellow sticky note stuck to the shirt on top.

 _Sorry about the dart. Couldn't find your shoes or phone. Hot chocolate is in the thermos. Will be back soon._

 _Watch yourself,_

 _Deaton_

Julian stared at the note, then at the clothes and the thermos. Dropping the blanket to the ground, he snatched up the pants and thin cotton t-shirt, yanking them on with blue-tinged fingers. The cotton shirt was rough and scratchy against his skin, and he could feel it sticking to the blood of a cut on his back. The pants were fleece, and while softer, like the shirt they were as cold as the air around them. Re-wrapping the blanket around his body, Julian hastily grabbed the thermos, struggling for several seconds before he managed to pry the lid off.

The hot chocolate was too watery and was lukewarm, but it was better than drugged punch, and though the meager warmth spreading through his throat and stomach wasn't helping his hands or feet, it was a significant improvement.

For a good few minutes, he simply stood, hugging himself tightly in an effort to regain some body heat, as well as to convince himself that he was actually human again. That he actually had fingers and hands instead of paws, and that his nose, while pointy and arguably a bit on the large side, was not a snout anymore.

Gulping back another swig of hot chocolate, Julian became conscious of something lodged between his, thankfully flat, molars.

Even before he picked it out, he had a pretty good idea of what it was. The hunk of red-stained grey fur in his palm was hardly a surprise, not that his stomach was any less likely to spill its contents knowing ahead of time.

"If you're going to vomit, I'd appreciate you try to hold it in. I've had quite the night as it is."

The speaker was to Julian's right, coming around a bend in the ravine out of his line of sight, but Julian didn't turn. He knew that voice. The slight edge accompanied by a sardonic and self-satisfied smile. The hint of dickishness that no one had noticed until it was much too late.

"I already had enough of this with Dad," Julian rasped, voice raw, still not turning around. "Shouldn't this shit have worn off by now?"

"Really?" the man behind him asked, sounding almost amused. "So you were at Lydia's then? I mean, I knew you were in town, but I never expected little Jules to grow up to be a partier."

Julian closed his eyes, slowly turning around and waiting several seconds before he opened them. "Can you just stab me and then disappear?" he asked his uncle tiredly. "I'm cold, sore, tired and possibly hung over, and I really don't want to have to deal with this again."

"'This' being a hallucination?"

"Well, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you're dead," Julian snapped.

"So you're hallucinating me six years older," Peter began, raising an unimpressed eyebrow and tilting his head to the side to study his nephew. "Completely healed and hours after you had any wolfsbane in your system? We both know you're smarter than that," he added in a condescending tone.

"I'm hallucinating," Julian repeated, trying to shake the feeling that this felt real. So did hallucinations, he reminded himself. And considering the night he'd had, he wasn't going to blame himself for being a little off.

Peter was dead. Derek had killed him. There had been witnesses.

"I heal slowly," Julian said, ignoring the voice at his back telling him that he was trying to convince himself rather than Peter. "It's the wolfsbane. It has to be. Because you're dead," he spat. "And Derek made sure you stayed that way."

Peter thoughtfully reached up and gently raised his fingers to the skin of his throat. "Yes, that was inconvenient," he murmured, trailing the fingers against a scar that wasn't there. "Did Derek tell you about that?" he asked, his tone casual but his words searching for a weakness. "You two were never all that close, but I suppose burning alive really brings people together."

Julian wanted to take a step back but his knees seemed to have locked. It couldn't be real. Wolfsbane fed off of fears and insecurities.

Except Julian wasn't afraid of Peter.

Not in the way he was afraid of his father.

"Did he tell you that he ripped my throat out with his bare hands?" Peter continued, taking a step towards Julian. "Did he tell you that he was willing to kill for power?"

"So were you," Julian retorted, studying the man in front of him with a growing sense of apprehension. It couldn't be real; Peter was dead. Derek couldn't have become an Alpha any other way, and while werewolves could heal quickly, they couldn't be healed like that. They weren't zombies. But all the same he couldn't shake the feeling in his aching bones that he was making a mistake.

"That was necessary. Sometimes sacrifices are," Peter was saying, still moving forwards as the smile returned. "You really think you're imagining this, don't you?" he asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

Julian took a step backwards, thoughts racing. It had to be the punch Lydia had drugged. _Lydia._ The girl who Peter had meant to be his second beta. The girl who hadn't turned. The girl had drugged everyone at her party for no reason before disappearing into the night on a full moon.

It didn't make sense, but answers could wait.

Julian swore under his breath and dropped the blanket, nearly tripping over the still-falling fabric in his effort to get away.

He made it six steps before Peter was on him; slamming into him at full force and driving his nephew into the rocky ground. Julian twisted his body, blindly throwing an elbow and feeling a rush of satisfaction as it connected with flesh. Peter let out a grunt of pain and lost his grip for a fraction of a second. It wasn't much, but it was enough.

Julian got his hands under his shoulders and managed to push himself up, lashing out with his foot. The kick didn't connect though, and Peter took the opportunity to grab Julian's hair, wrenching his head to the side to expose the back of his neck to Peter's clawed hand.

"Sorry, Jules," Peter said casually, digging his claws deep until they touched bone.

The spear of pain slammed through Julian's skull, thoughts shattering apart as his uncle invaded. Dimly he could hear Peter speaking; a million miles away yet in his head at the same time.

"I've been a bit out of the loop though," Peter murmured. "And Derek's out of commission. Try not to worry to much. Makes it hurt more."

* * *

 _"Will you hold still?" Julian finally snapped, tightening his grip on Alex's head and glaring at the gangly blonde. "This is hard enough without you doing constantly moving."_

 _Ignoring his boyfriend and leaning to the side to look at his reflection in the mirror behind Julian, "You got dye on my forehead," Alex complained, his thin fingers moving to prod at the blue spot._

 _"It'll come off," Cal interjected from her spot behind Alex, "And considering that bleach job, we need to make sure we cover everything. If we catch your face then you can live with it."_

 _"This stuff is permanent," Alex reminded the brunette with a worried frown, trying to look at his reflection again only for Cal to yank his head back in place._

 _"Well then you can have a lovely career ahead of you as a member of_ Blue Man Group _," she retorted._

 _Julian snorted at Alex's horrified expression. "Or a smurf," he added, sharing a grin with Cal over Alex's head._

 _"Great. You two suck, you know that, right?" Alex muttered crossly._

 _"Some of us more than others," Cal remarked innocently._

 _Julian rolled his eyes, flipping her off good-naturedly before grabbing another glob of dye and smucking it onto Alex's hair. "I think that does it for the front," he said, stepping back and ensuring that he hadn't missed any spots._

 _"I'll finish up here," Cal said, waving him off with a gloved hand. "You go throw the gloves out and find a plastic bag, okay?"_

 _"Yes, ma'am," Julian replied, giving her a slight bow before walking off into the bathroom and carefully peeling the dye-coated gloves off of his hands. In trying to pull the glove off, he left a blue streak down his arm. Cursing under his breath, he turned on the tap and began vigorously scrubbing. He managed to get most of it off, but there was a pale blue stain on his arm that he knew from Alex's last dye-misadventure would be staying there for several days._

 _"Julian! Bags!" Cal shouted from the other room._

 _"Give me a minute!" he called back, opening the bathroom cupboard to find nothing but toilet paper and a couple of extra towels. "Shit," he muttered to himself. Hurrying downstairs, he made for the kitchen. "Hey, Laura, you know where the extra garbage bags are?"_

 _"In the pantry," came the muffled response. Laura's voice was distorted and too far away, but Julian dismissed that._ _She must have gone back, he reasoned, moving towards the screen door that led out the tiny, impeccably neat kitchen out into the yard. She'd bought peonies a few days ago and had been trying to find the time to plant them ever since._

 _"No, the mini ones," he explained, grabbing the door handle and smiling as he noticed the black earth scattered on the tile floor._

 _"They're..." The words still sounded wrong. Like he was listening to them under water._

 _"Laura, I can't hear you," Julian muttered, striding out onto the porch only for his foot to meet grass. When he turned back to look for the door, it was gone. Replaced by a row of tombstones that stretched on for what seemed like an eternity._

 _"Because you're dead," he murmured to himself. Had it even been Laura's voice he'd heard? It had sounded like her, hadn't it? Julian frowned. He knew his sister's voice... yet when he tried to focus on it, it slipped through his fingers._

 _"Jules, you have to wake up."_

 _The voice was familiar, but it was a million miles away, and it wasn't Laura. Definitely not._

 _Julian shook his head, trying to shake the new voice out of his head only for it to grow louder until it was an all encompassing shout that he couldn't escape._

 _"Can you hear me? Jules, you have to wake up, alright?"_

 _Clamping his hands over his ears wouldn't stop it. If anything it made it worse, the words echoing through his head..._

 _"Jules!"_

 _The graveyard started to shake, the earth falling away in large chunks as the ground itself vibrated apart._

"Jules? Can you hear me? Julian!" Derek repeated, insistently shaking his little brother's shoulders. "You here?" he asked, pausing the shaking as Julian blinked up at him.

Julian managed a nod, swaying dangerously to the left. "Peter…" he rasped.

"Given that there's a giant hole where his chair was and I have this," Derek said, nodding at the bloody arm he was using to balance Julian, "I'm going to say that he is alive." Inhaling, a frown crossed Derek's face and he brought his free hand up to the back of Julian's neck before he could stop him, a furious light burning in Derek's eyes as his fingertips came away bloody.

"You buried Peter under the floor?" Julian asked, staring at the bright red fingertips blankly.

The fingertips disappeared into a clenched fist. "That's your concern right now?"

"But you hate Poe…" Julian rambled hoarsely. "That's Poe right? _The Tell Tale Heart_?"

"Yes, it is Poe, and you hate him too," Derek reminded him, gently guiding his brother up to his feet, a frown crossing his face. "Shit. Jules, you're freezing."

"Lost my coat," Julian joked weakly, experimentally trying to move his fingers only to result in a painful twitch. He was pretty sure his fingers weren't supposed to be purple. Or sore.

Derek sighed, tugging off his leather jacket and thrusting it towards Julian. "Just put it on."

Studying the overlarge item of clothing with a frown, Julian shook his head. "I don't want your stupid coat."

"And I don't want you to die of hypothermia," Derek snapped. "Just put on the damn coat."

Julian put on the damn coat, his reluctance fading as he was reminded that his brother had a werewolf's metabolism. Shoving his hands under his arms, Julian took a moment to let the heat absorb through his skin, heating the frozen ache in his bones, before he looked back at his brother.

In the dark of the forest, Derek's face was shadowed, but Julian soon realised that the dark smears under his brother's eyes was actual discolouration as opposed to the lighting. The smears of purple only served to make Derek's face look paler than he really was, as well as to make his green eyes look sunken and vaguely bloodshot. There was something wrong with Derek's posture as well. It was too tense and there was an undercurrent of something that Julian couldn't quite place without his sense of smell or taste.

"Peter's alive," Julian said to himself, trying to let the words sink in unsuccessfully. Fucking Peter, of all people, was alive. And wandering around Beacon Hills.

There was something else too. Rattling at the back of his head. Something warmer and happier. Bright dimpled smiles and chocolate coloured eyes that crinkled up at the corners whenever he laughed.

Glazed eyes in a sweaty face and breath that smelled like alcohol and wolfsbane.

"Scott," he said, finally grasping on to the train of thought he'd lost. "The party…"

"They're gone," Derek responded, beginning to walk off down the ravine, forcing Julian to follow him, bare feet protesting as he stepped on yet another pointed rock. "The party is completely empty; everyone ran off. I think…" Derek scowled and ground his teeth together in frustration. "Something's wrong with Scott. I can feel it."

"You can _feel_ it?" Julian asked, raising a disbelieving eyebrow. Sure, some wolves could sense when members of the pack were in danger, or more commonly, in pain, but a strong connection with the Alpha and the pack was required. And while Scott may have joined in name, he was hardly part of Derek's inner circle.

"That and he called you a few minutes ago," Derek admitted, pulling a phone out of his jean's pocket to reveal a cracked, dirt-coated screen. "Found it on my way over. Nothing but silence on the other end, and I don't think it was just because I was the one who picked up."

Julian snatched the phone with numb fingers, opening up his messages to find a series of an unanswered texts from Scott. The first fifteen were variations of 'Are you okay?' sent in five minute increments. Only the last few were different.

 _It's Matt. Will try to talk to Stiles' dad._

 _He said we can go. Will head to station. Meet us there later?_

 _At station with Stiles' dad. Hope u r ok._

Then the messages stopped.

"They're at the station," Julian told his brother, picking up the pace. "They know who the killer is."

"Alright." Derek nodded to himself. "You go back to the house and find Deaton, and I'll-"

Julian stopped dead in his tracks. "You are not going alone."

"Jules, you're freezing cold, covered in scratches and we both know that turning like that drains you. Not to mention that the full moon is still out," Derek added in an almost accusatory tone. "I don't need two problems to deal with."

"I'm not letting you go in there alone. Scott needs help. And so do you," Julian argued. "And I'm not going to turn. I'm tired as fuck and I can't even shift partway," Julian said, pointedly blinking several times. Trying to bring back his wolf vision only resulted in a dull ache reminiscent of what it felt like to try and go cross-eyed.

"And that's supposed to reassure me?"

"Derek, I'm coming. I can either walk, or you can drive me."

Derek studied his brother and something passed through his eyes. "Fine," he said after a moment, digging his hands into his pocket. "But if you get yourself killed, you better tell mom that you were the one who insisted on coming along."


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note: Few things (for clarity's sake):**

 **Yes, Julian can shift into a full wolf but can't control it and is extremely draining (which is why he doesn't do it).**

 **Also, because being unconscious is really bad for you, I'm going to go with Sheriff Stilinski being out of it but not totally unconscious for the majority of the fight. (Seriously. Being unconscious for more than half a minute is bad, let alone the duration of a fight scene).**

* * *

Even with his senses dulled and his head thumping insistently, Julian knew something was very wrong. Sure, the station lights were on, glowing a warm yellow in the dark night, and there were several cars parked in the parking lot, but there was something sinister about the scene before him. Like how no one appeared to be moving inside the building, and how the Stiles' Jeep sat empty, parked a few feet away from the entrance. Hands unconsciously curling into fists, Julian found himself scanning the area for threats as his body tensed for a fight. "Derek…" he said quietly as his brother approached the door of the building.

"I know," Derek responded, voice low and eyes beginning to glow faintly red. "Keep your voice down," he added in a harsher tone as he reached for the door handle and pushed it open to reveal an empty hallway that lead up into the main building.

"Why don't you shut up then?" Julian muttered irritably, prompting Derek to throw his younger brother a frustrated look before he went back to slowly making his way down the hall.

There was a noise at the edge of Julian's hearing that he couldn't quite pinpoint. Something muffled and unclear, impossible for him to isolate under his heart beating in his ears and his own rasping breath. As he carefully placed one foot in front of the other, getting closer and closer to the door, the noise became clearer. Voices. An argument of some kind if the tone was anything to go by. Hardly something to calm down the feeling of unease spreading through his veins.

Derek stopped with his hand on the doorknob, Julian shifting nervously behind him. Derek pulled down hard, only for the knob to rattle in response.

"Why is it locked?" Julian hissed, eyes flicking around the hall as his heartrate picked up even further. "I can hear people talking..."

"Hold on," Derek muttered, cocking his head to the side to focus on the voices beyond the door. Inhaling deeply through his nose, Derek's frown of concentration vanished to be swiftly replaced by a look of alarm. "Blood," he explained shortly, claws elongating and eyes glowing blood red.

"Shit," Julian muttered. "Kick down the door?" he suggested as he brought up his fists and got into a fighting stance.

"No. It's got the upper hand in an enclosed space," Derek replied, searching for any sign of the kanima.

"Like in a tight hallway?" Julian hissed.

Derek shot a look over his shoulder to the door they'd come through. "If we make a run for it…"

"Derek, there's people in there," Julian argued. Probably Scott, Stiles and the Sheriff. Assuming that the blood wasn't theirs. But if it was... They could be injured. _Or worse,_ added a voice at the back of Julian's head that he wished would just shut up.

Derek fully turned around, eyes going wide as he did so. "Jules," he whispered sharply, jerking his head at the entryway.

Julian looked over his shoulder, expecting to see the kanima blocking the door but instead seeing nothing. Not until his eyes drifted upwards to spot Jackson's half-turned head poking down from the top of the door, slitted eyes regarding them without expression.

"Matt has to be here," Julian said, watching in horror as Jackson dropped softly to the ground before straightening up slowly, his claws dripping venom.

"If you can get past him-" Derek started, keeping his voice low, his eyes not straying from Jackson.

"Are you insane?" Julian hissed back. He'd seen how fast the kanima could move, and playing red rover with it seemed like a monumentally dumb idea.

"Do you have any better ideas?" Derek snapped just as the kanima, apparently sick of their bickering, launched itself at his chest.

Julian managed to throw himself to the side, Derek more gracefully copying the movement as the kanima flew by.

He heard it land behind them with an angry hiss, claws skittering on the tile flooring. There was no way they were going to make it to the door. Julian brought his foot up as he spun around, preparing to lash out with his foot at head-level. The hallway was too narrow for him to move as freely as he'd have liked, but he was hoping that he could by them some time.

Given the way the night had been going, Julian shouldn't have been surprised when something wrapped around his neck and pulled him backwards. Off-balance and hacking, he stumbled for a few steps, instinctively bringing his hand to the tail that was cutting off his air supply. As Julian tried to regain his footing, Jackson continued to pull him backwards with the tail while stepping forwards to drive his claws deep into Derek's exposed back.

With a gasp of pain and surprise, Derek's knees locked and his hands fell to his sides, green eyes meeting Julian's with a mixture of fury and fear as the venom spread through his veins.

If Derek hadn't been a human shish kabob, Julian might have risked attacking Jackson. A well-placed kick to the distracted lizard's ribs or an elbow to its throat. Futile, certainly, but it felt better than the sensation of helplessness beginning to spread through his veins. But with Derek paralyzed and Jackson ready to push his claws in deeper, that was liable to get both of them killed.

And so Julian simply stood there with a tail tightening around his windpipe as Jackson went on to use the hand in Derek's back to force him forwards as the door swung open. There was a relieved sigh from within. Derek's body was completely blocking what was happening behind him.

"Oh thank God."

Jackson removed his claws and Derek pitched forwards, landing unceremoniously on the floor to reveal Scott standing with relief that was quickly replaced by horror and dismay as he took in the sight before him.

Julian offered Scott a strained smile only for the tail to tighten, narrowing his airway further until he felt like he was breathing through a straw. There was a pressure building at the base of his skull and his eyes were beginning to water. Blinking the moisture away and looking beyond Scott, Julian finally spotted Matt, who was studying the scene in front of him with a confident, almost manic look in his eyes and a gun held in his sweating hand. A gun that was pointed at Scott's head.

"This is the one controlling him?" Derek asked, studying Matt from his position on the floor with an unimpressed air. Leave it to Derek to try and piss off the murderer with a kanima and a gun. "This kid?"

Matt crouched down next to Derek with a nasty glint in his eyes. "Well, Derek, not everyone's lucky enough to be a big bad werewolf like you and your brother here," he spat. Catching Derek's blink of surprise, Matt's furious expression flipped to a smile that was much too wide. "Oh yeah, that's right!" he proclaimed loudly. "I've learned a few things lately. Werewolves, hunters, kanimas," he listed, the gun in his hand waving back and forth with every word. "It's like a frickin' Halloween party every full moon. Except for you Stiles. What do you turn into?"

Stiles, who was standing next to Scott, forced himself to keep his voice steady and his face devoid of fear. "Abominable snowman," he quipped, eyes never wavering from the gun in Matt's hand. "But it's more of like a wintertime thing. You know, seasonal."

Matt snorted, his lips curling up. Then he nodded sharply and Jackson struck; claws whipping across Stiles neck before anyone had anytime to register what had happened. Stiles fell forwards, landing on Derek with a grunt of surprise.

Lunging forwards with a cry, Scott was stopped by Jackson's clawed hand, his scaled index finger waving slowly as he tightened his grip around Julian's neck; turning his gasp of surprise into a choked wheezing sound. The thin sliver of air getting through was completely gone and Julian could feel his blood beginning to pound in his ears and his vision turn fuzzy as his lungs started begging for air.

Scott stepped backwards quickly, a reluctant and helpless look in his eyes.

Julian felt the grip on his throat relax and he took a desperate gulp of air, blinking tears and coughing to try and clear his airway. He barely registered the stinging pain in his neck before he was pitching backwards.

Either Jackson had gotten even more powerful or the venom was simply working faster on Julian's weakened form, because by the time Julian actually hit the floor of the station his limbs were completely unresponsive.

From his new spot on the floor, Julian could make out Stiles' shoe a couple of inches away from his head. The lanky teen had collapsed onto Derek when he'd fallen, and Derek didn't seem to be taking it very well.

"Get him off of me," his older brother was demanding, defiantly meeting Matt's gaze as the the murderer crouched down.

"Oh I don't know, Derek, I think you two make a pretty good pair," Matt said idly, studying Derek as though he were a curiosity in a zoo. Now that Matt was closer to eye level, Julian could clearly see his dilated pupils and the sheen of sweat on his sickly face. Matt was on the verge of completely snapping, and Julian didn't want to be paralyzed on the floor when he finally did.

"It must kinda suck though," Matt commented, the gun balanced casually in his hand with his finger tapping against the barrel. "To have all that power taken away from you with just a little cut to the back of the neck. I bet you're not used to feeling this helpless."

"Still got some teeth," Derek retorted, moving his head as much as he could to punctuate the words. "Why don't you get down here a little closer, huh? See how helpless I am."

Grip tightening on the gun, Matt remained crouched with a sneer forming on his face. Whatever he'd been planning to do though was interrupted the sound of a car pulling into the parking lot outside.

There was no way it was the police, Julian reasoned. The Sheriff's men were out of commission, likely dead if the bloodstains on the wall were anything to go by, and they wouldn't have had time to call any of the other stations. Besides, if they had been able to call, the other stations wouldn't have sent only one car, they would have grabbed every officer they could muster. Not that they'd be able to do anything.

"Is that her?" Matt asked, the question directed at the last standing beta. Even if he couldn't pick up Scott's heartrate or scent, Julian could clearly hear see the panic in his friend's eyes and hear the tremor in his voice as began to protest.

But Matt was already shaking his head. "Do what I tell you and I won't hurt her," he claimed with ease. "I won't even let Jackson near her."

Clearly werewolf senses weren't necessary to see through that pile of bullshit. "Scott, don't trust him!" Stiles cried hoarsely, voice muffled by Derek's shirt.

"Stiles, shut up," Julian warned, noting Matt's quick breathing, erratic movements and clenched jaw. He'd been in enough fights to recognise when he was about to get punched, and Matt looked about ready to throw a right hook. Or shoot one of them.

"He's right, Stiles," Matt said, yanking the teen up by the back of his flannel shirt before roughly flipping him over and setting his boot-clad foot against his throat. "Because I'm really not in the mood for this," Matt continued, beginning to press down. "What do you say, Scott?"

Stiles' eyes bugged out of his head and he began to choke; an awful, hissing, spluttering sound that grew more and more desperate as Matt kept on pushing down.

Julian shut his eyes, trying to block out the sound and the overwhelming feeling of helplessness as he heard Stiles' breathing turn to a terrible, wretched whine as Matt cut off his air supply completely. Stiles was dying, Scott was shouting and Julian was ten years old again, trying to block out his family's screams as the smoke and flames flooded the basement. Matt was going to kill them. And they couldn't stop him.

"Alright!" Scott shouted, panicked. "Stop! Just stop! Okay!"

Matt waited several seconds to make sure that the point had been driven in before he finally removed his boot. Stiles came up for air like a drowning man; desperately gasping and coughing, trying to bring air into his oxygen starved lungs. Hesitantly opening his eyes, Julian could see Stiles' flushed face slowly reverting from purple to pink as he dragged in another breath.

The sound of someone fiddling with the front door brought Matt back to the present, and he turned to Jackson. "You, take them in there," he ordered, pointing at the three on the floor dismissively. "You…" he said, turning back to Scott and raising the gun to point at his chest. "With me. We're going to have a nice chat with our visitor."

* * *

"Is that Scott's mom?" Derek asked, careful to keep his voice down and keeping his eyes on Jackson. But the kanima didn't respond. He didn't even move. Just stayed motionless in the doorway, poised to obey Matt's next command. Not as though that was much of a comfort.

"She saw Matt at the hospital…" Stiles' voice was cracked and uneven, his nervous, rapid breathing only making the fact more pronounced. "He wanted us to delete all of the evidence, and she's a witness…"

"We're not dead yet," Derek stated, bloody spittle accompanying the words. He'd bitten his lip and the inside of his mouth as soon as they'd left Matt's line of sight, and Julian could see his brother's claws digging deep into the flesh of his leg. Luckily, if Jackson had noticed, he didn't seem to care. The injuries would hopefully trigger the healing process but Julian had a feeling that it wouldn't be fast enough. With the way the night had been going, he wasn't exactly feeling optimistic.

He couldn't even shift let alone put up a fight against an armed Matt, much less Jackson. Trying to simply elongate his nails was met with a wave of dizziness and a stabbing pain radiating from the tips of his fingers up his arms. He probably shouldn't have expected his healing ability to do shit for the kanima venom racing through his veins given that biting down on his tongue had only succeeded in making every bit of coppery saliva he swallowed add to the churning in his stomach.

"Well, I don't-" Stiles started.

He was cut off by a gun shot and someone screaming. Scott's mother.

It wasn't a scream of pain though; it was a scream of horror. Of fear. The scream of a mother who had seen her child hurt in front of her.

 _If he wanted to kill him, he would've done it earlier. Same with the rest of us,_ Julian tried to reassure himself, all too aware of his heart thundering away in his ears. _He needs something else first. He can't kill him yet. He's fine. Has to be._

"Scott! Stiles!" Someone shouted from another room. "What happened?"

"Dad," Stiles whispered. Rapidly, he looked over to Derek with wide eyes. "He's… Can you hear…"

"He's still breathing," Derek informed them. The same wave of relief Julian felt pass over him was obvious in the older werewolf's gruff tone. "He's hurt but it's not fatal."

"So he's okay?"

"He's alive," Julian corrected, thoughts racing as the relief faded to be replaced by practicality and reality. There was no such thing as a non-lethal gunshot wound his teacher had been fond of yelling as yet another student asked if they could learn to disarm someone. Bullets were unpredictable and they did a lot of damage. They fragmented. Embedded themselves in flesh and bone. Clipped arteries and veins. Ruptured organs. Sent people into shock. Killed them. Especially if they didn't get help.

 _He'll heal,_ Julian told himself, though it did little to calm his nerves. Even a werewolf wasn't going to be safe from a normal gunshot wound. Healing didn't always prevent bleeding out or an infection from forming, and it certainly wouldn't prevent Scott from going into shock.

Sometimes, Julian honestly wished that he liked history or geology instead of biology.

But history would've have taught him the same thing he knew then; that even though Scott could heal from a bullet wound, Matt wasn't going to leave it at that. They were witnesses; they'd seen his face and they knew what he'd done.

That there was no way Matt was going to let them leave the station alive.

* * *

If Matt had looked unhinged when Julian had first saw him, now he looked like he'd completely lost it. It was as though he was on a high of some kind: his face was flushed and his eyes were darting everywhere at once, his movements jittery and abrupt. He kept combing his hand through his hair, and his finger had been tapping against the side of the gun ever since he pushed a bleeding Scott back into the room.

The dark haired beta was in obvious pain; jaw clenched, lips tinged almost purple, and a sheen of sweat on his face. He was leaning heavily against the wall, hand clasped tightly over his lower left side. It wasn't a clean shot Julian had realised with an awful lurch when Scott had pushed himself up off the wall to reveal the back of his shirt was completely unmarked. The bullet was still inside of him. Given the position, it was all too likely that the bullet had hit Scott's intestines or even his liver. If it had hit one of the larger blood vessels...

 _Then he would have bled out by now,_ Julian told himself, but he couldn't help but think of the statistical likelihood of an injury to the intestines resulting in an infection. Werewolf healing would most likely target the veins, arteries and organs first, but it was harder to heal when the body was simultaneously trying to eject a piece of metal buried in the flesh.

"The evidence is gone. Why don't you just go?" Scott asked. the pain and desperation in his voice was as awful to hear as the steady drip of his blood leaking onto the floor through his hand. The optimism and determination Scott carried with him was being worn away. He knew he was pleading for the lives of everyone left in the station. No one deserved to have that burden on them.

And yet Julian honestly wasn't sure who else would've been able to take it. Had Derek, Stiles, or Julian himself been put in that position, Matt probably would have shot them all by now.

And while Matt was definitely pissed and still liable to do so, that he hadn't done it yet was somewhat surprising.

"You think the evidence matters that much?" Matt was demanding, the gun clenched tightly in his hand. "No. No, I want the book."

Even through pain and fear, Scott had the grace to look genuinely confused. "What book?"

Matt stared at Scott like he was an idiot. "The bestiary!" he shouted.

How Matt knew about the bestiary was an unknown; maybe he'd overheard them at the library or had learned about it through Jackson somehow. Either way, Julian knew that he was more than willing to shoot them all one by one until he got it.

"I don't have it," Scott explained, careful to keep his voice even to avoid provoking Matt any further. "It's Gerard's. What do you want it for anyway?"

"I need answers," Matt muttered half-to-himself.

For a brief second, Scott lost his cool. "Answers to what?" he asked forcefully.

"To this!" Matt snapped, yanking up his shirt to reveal dark scales creeping up his back and around to his side.

Julian heard Stiles gasp next to him. The lanky teen was wearing a horrified expression that Julian doubted was all that different from his own. He'd known something had pushed Matt over the edge, but he'd suspected that it had to do with Scott and Stiles getting the Sheriff involved. Whatever was happening to him… But Matt hadn't been bitten. He was still human. Whatever was happening to him was supernatural, sure, but it wasn't anything Julian had ever even heard of before.

After taking in the varying expressions of horror and disgust on the other's faces, Matt quickly pulled his shirt back down. "Well, now that we know it's urgent," he hissed, jabbing the gun towards Scott's chest. "We're going to go into the other room and you're going to get Allison to bring it here."

"Please, don't drag her-"

Matt grinned at Scott, nonchalantly pointing the gun at Stiles as Jackson took a step towards where the three were lying helpless on the floor. "You know, Scott," Matt said casually. "Hostages are useful and all, but I don't _really_ need extras."

Breathing heavily, Scott clenched his jaw and pushed himself upright, his free hand clenched into a useless fist. "Fine," he said softly. "Just don't hurt anyone else."

Derek rolled his eyes but luckily no one aside from Julian noticed.

After Matt led Scott from the room and was out of earshot, Stiles turned his head as much as he could until he was looking at Derek. "Hey," he whispered hoarsely, checking to see that Jackson hadn't reacted before he continued, "You know what's happening to Matt?"

"No," Derek answered shortly.

"Doesn't matter," Julian pointed out, his tongue still thick and bloodied in his mouth. "There's no information in there about kanimas other than the story about the priest."

"Nothing in your family's files?" Stiles asked.

"I'm not really in the mood to check for him," Julian snapped, regretting it the instance the words left his mouth. Stiles was no doubt just as worried as he was; if not more so. His father was in the station. Trapped with a monster he knew nothing about. "It might have something to do with the bond," Julian added in a gentler tone, trying to use logic to calm his whirling thoughts as well as Stiles'.

"You mean the bond is turning him into the kanima?"

"You can't just break the rules. Not like this," Derek pointed out.

After spending a morning researching with the teen, Julian didn't even have to be looking at Stiles to know his brows were furrowing. Even being held hostage by a murderer hadn't managed to dull Stiles' sense of curiosity. "What do you mean?"

"The universe balances things out," Derek responded. "Always does."

"Is it because he's using Jackson to kill people who don't deserve it?" Stiles mused, the problem briefly distracting him from the situation they were in.

"And he's killing people himself," Derek agreed.

"So he abuses the bond and so the bond turns on him?" Julian suggested. It made sense, and there wasn't much else to explain a transformation like that. If someone could be turned from a bite, why not a bond? If it was strong enough to control Jackson so completely, it made sense that it could change Matt as well.

"Matt breaks the rules of the kanima, he becomes the kanima," Stiles murmured.

Julian snorted. "It's almost poetic," he muttered irritably.

"Balance," Derek stated in agreement.

Stiles looked to the Alpha. "Will he believe us if we tell him that?"

"Not likely."

"Okay," Stiles said, mostly to himself. Sucking in an unsteady breath, Stiles let his head loll back on the floor before he finally spoke. "He's gonna kill all of us when he gets the book, isn't he?"

"Probably," Julian admitted, the weight of the situation becoming an elephant sitting on his chest. It had been easier to breathe when Jackson was strangling him.

"Definitely," Derek corrected.

"Well aren't you just a family of optimists," Stiles muttered, his breathing picking up in speed. He was getting worryingly close to hyperventilating. "Alright, so what do we do?" he demanded, desperation in his tone as he tried to look for a way out of the situation. "Do we just sit here and wait to die?"

"Triggering the healing process is working. Slowly," Derek said. Even raising his hand up even an inch off the ground took immense effort if the veins bugging out of his neck were anything to go by. Derek's hand flopped back down to the ground in defeat. "But I don't know how much longer it'll be."

Julian studied his brother's injured hand. Maybe the cuts Peter had made had helped; there was an odd clear liquid oozing out of them not dissimilar to the kanima venom. Derek was weak though, whatever Peter had done to him had drained his power, Julian thought as he eyed the wounds in his brother's arm. The thick, ragged cuts looked almost familiar. When he placed just why, Julian's eyes widened. "Derek, can you reach my arm?" he asked urgently.

"Why-"

"Remember with Erica? After the library? If you can drain the venom out like you did then..."

"Then you might be able to move?" Stiles whispered excitedly, eyes darting apprehensively over to where Jackson stood. "We'd have a bit of a chance. A very small one but bigger than the one we have now."

"Jules, I don't know if it'll work," Derek protested. "You're already weak and-"

"Derek, Scott is out there with a gun pointed at his head, and Matt is going to kill us when he gets the book," Julian reminded him. "Just do it."

Cursing under his breath, Derek began to use his fingers to slowly claw his arm up towards Julian's. "Just for the record, if this backfires, I reserve the right to say 'I told you so.'"

* * *

It took Derek near five minutes to get within an inch of Julian's arm. In fairness, Derek was trying to move pounds of muscle with the tips of his index and middle finger, but the slow process wasn't doing anything to help the air of anxiety in the room.

"So it that hypothetical situation we talked about getting any less hypothetical?" Stiles asked, keeping his voice low. Matt seemed too preoccupied with monologue-ing down the hall to hear them, and his words were too muffled to make out anyways, but none of them wanted to risk it.

"Almost there," Derek answered, digging his claws into the tile flooring until they finally reached Julian's limp arm. "You sure about this?" he asked seriously.

Julian nodded, clenching his eyes shut and tightening his jaw. The process was going to be painful, and a bout of prolonged screaming was bound to alert Matt.

"I'll take what pain I can, but this is going to hurt," Derek warned, his claws sinking into Julian's arm.

At first, Julian was underwhelmed. Sure, his arm hurt a bit, but it was hardly that bad. Then Derek's grip tightened and the world behind his eyelids exploded in colour.

His blood was burning; boiling in his veins as Derek dragged the venom out. Julian could feel Derek trying to take some of the pain; a sensation like cool water running over his skin. It did nothing for the rest of his body though. In an effort to keep quiet, Julian bit down harder on the inside of his mouth until he finally broker the skin; blood rushing to fill his mouth as he tried to fight back a whine of pain. Shifting had taken too much out of him as it was, and his pain threshold seemed to be falling away. He wanted so badly to just curl in on himself, but his body wouldn't obey even as his mind screamed at it.

The world behind his eyelids was beginning to turn a dark purple when Julian's fingers dug into the tile flooring, clawing at the tile as his back arched.

Even through the pain, he felt a rush of relief. It was working.

 _Just a little longer,_ he told himself. He was starting to feel lightheaded; his brain not getting enough oxygen. But he didn't dare take the desperate gasp of oxygen. He couldn't open his mouth. Not without screaming. _If you make a sound, we're all dead,_ he told himself, a trail of blood leaking out of his pursed lips. _You. Derek. Scott. Stiles. The Sheriff and Scott's mother._

At first, he thought the gunfire wasn't real. Some hallucination; caused by the wolfsbane or the pain. But he felt Derek's grip tighten briefly before it slackened and then disappeared. Derek was cursing, and when Julian opened his eyes he was greeted with darkness; bright green spots dancing across his vision as the last of the venom drizzled out of the wound in his arm. Unable to keep his mouth shut, Julian tried to take in a deep breath only to choke on the blood he was inhaling. He wasn't sure if it was the coughing or the blood that finally prompted Jackson to turn around and start coming back towards the room.

Weakly rolling over, Julian staggered to his feet, knowing all too well that Jackson was going to win any fight. Julian was in the midst of trying to plant his feet, hoping he could at least get a couple of hits in, when Scott charged out of the smoke-filled hallway like an action hero and slammed into Jackson at full force, leaving Julian standing there with his fists raised and a look of utter shock on his face as Scott then proceeded to toss Jackson out of the room; the lizard vanishing into the smoke.

Julian stared at Scott for a second trying to decide if what he'd seen happen actually had. "Thanks."

Scott shook his head, and smiled briefly before Derek brought them back to the present. "Take him!" the Alpha yelled at Scott who hastily helped his friend to his feet, hesitating with his worried gaze on the two Hales.

"Scott, go," Julian insisted, unsteadily moving towards Derek, who was trying to use a nearby desk to pull himself up.

Gritting his teeth together, Scott nodded and hauled Stiles to his feet. "Be careful," he called back.

Julian waved him off as he wrapped Derek's arm around his shoulder. His knees nearly buckled as he took Derek's weight. The two of them nearly fell over before Julian managed to find his balance by planting a hand on the nearby doorframe to help take some of the weight off.

"Can you hurry up?" Derek snapped. He tried to take a step forwards but only succeeded in off-balancing them once more.

Julian couldn't even fully pick his bare feet up off the ground thanks to the weight pressing down on his shoulders. Instead, he was forced to slide his feet across the tile, leaving a thin trail of half-dried blood in his wake. After spitting out another mouthful of blood, Julian looked over to find his brother's face contorted in fury. His eyes were starting to glow a bloody red and the arm around Julian tensed as his claws began to form.

"Derek, you can't even walk," Julian reminded him, willing the attackers to stay out of the room for just a minute more. They had to be hunters. No one else was stupid or brazen enough to attack a police station like this. Whether Allison had willingly told them about Matt was unknown, but Julian doubted that she'd approve of sending in people to shoot out the windows without regard for anyone left alive inside.

"The venom's almost gone. If I shift it should speed it up." Derek's confident tone dropped into an angry growl as the two came across a door that looked like it had been kicked out of the frame. "Hurry up," Derek repeated roughly.

That time, Julian didn't argue.

They were passing through the third shattered wooden doorframe when Derek suddenly lurched up and none-to-gently shoved Julian sideways as he charged forwards with a gutteral roar of fury.

Derek met the kanima swinging. Anger had always been Derek's greatest ally, and after being paralyzed, mocked and helpless, Derek was beyond pissed.

The part of Julian that wanted to go help kick the kanima's ass was quickly silenced by the tired, aching part of him that just wanted to go home and sleep for a week. He could make out flashed of Derek and the kanima fighting through what looked like the holding cell area. Derek could handle himself. At this point, Julian would only get in the way.

Leaning heavily against the wall of the station, he was in the midst of trying to clear the remaining blood out of his mouth when he heard a shuffling sound behind him. Whirling around as quickly as he did only served to cause him to sway dangerously for several seconds before he managed to register that Stiles on the floor, dragging himself forwards like his life depended on it.

"My dad..." Stiles managed as he used up his remaining strength to haul himself another inch forwards.

Julian turned back to the room, craning his neck until he spotted a pair of work boots attached to an unmoving body. Cursing under his breath, Julian kept low to the ground and refused to look up at the fight whirling around him. Keeping his gaze on the floor in front of him, Julian grabbed the former Sheriff's foot and used what little strength he had left to pull the man back out into the hallway, trying to ignore the chair that went flying past his head. He could have sworn he saw Scott's bright teal shirt somewhere in the fray, but forced the thoughts of that out of his head. He had enough to worry about with Stiles' father.

"Is he alright?" Stiles asked urgently, doing his best to push himself up onto his knees.

For a moment, Julian froze. Derek and Scott were fighting the kanima in the other room. Matt was AWOL. Peter was back from the dead. There were hunters running around shooting up the station, and his wolf senses were nowhere to be found. What the fuck was he supposed to do?

 _You don't need werewolf powers to perform first aid. You just need to focus. It doesn't matter what's going on in the other room. Just here. Only here._

 _It's just like at camp. Do what you can until the paramedics get here._

Jerking into action, Julian dropped to a crouch, taking the man's pulse. It was there but it was slower than he'd have hoped. "He needs an ambulance," Julian said, grabbing his phone out of his pocket and putting it in Stiles' numb hands. Not wanting to move the man's neck, Julian crouched close down to the ground, looking for any sign of a head wound. There was a puddle of blood forming under the man's head, and further inspection revealed a gash near the back of the man's skull. _Shit._

"It's just a head wound, right?" Stiles stammered as he fiddled with the phone, momentarily torn between wanting to help his father and putting the paramedics and other officers at risk. "He's just knocked out."

"That's not a good thing," Julian muttered. Anything longer than thirty seconds would result in permanent brain damage and more than a few minutes would result in a vegetable. Turning back to Stiles, Julian went for the direct approach. "Stiles, he needs a hospital. He's already been out for too long, and if there's any bleeding or a skull injury..."

Stiles' face paled and he jabbed at the phone, holding it up to his ear as Julian gently shook the former Sheriff's shoulders. _AVPU. Alertness, Voice, Pain, Unresponsive. "_ Mr. Stilinski, can you hear me?" Julian asked, careful to keep his voice level and clear. That garnered no response, and Julian moved onto the _P._ Pinching the man's arm finally caused a soft groan and the Sheriff's hand fluttered by his side. "Mr. Stilinski?"

The former Sheriff's eyes opened slowly. "W-What..." the man managed.

"Okay, great," Julian said, forcing a smile as the Sheriff groaned again. "I'm going to need you to not move, alright?"

"It's okay, dad," Stiles added, dropping the phone to the floor to grab his father's hand with badly shaking ones. "The ambulance is on its way."

The man nodded once before groaning in pain and squeezing his eyes shut.

"Is there a first aid kit around here?" Julian asked, staring at the worryingly large puddle of blood forming on the ground.

Stiles jerked a hand in the direction of the entrance. "Over near the front desk," he said, not taking his eyes off of his father.

"Keep him talking," Julian reminded Stiles before making his way through the hall towards the front of the station. The smoke had started to clear into a thin haze that hung around the room. There didn't appear to be anyone else around. All the gunfire was distant. Isolated shots as opposed to the rain of bullets it had been. Still, Julian couldn't help but be cautious as he made his way forward until he finally spotted the bright red box attached to the wall near the door. He was yanking it off the wall when he heard something fly past him.

He managed to turn, holding the first aid kit out like a shield, in time to see Jackson fly out of the room like a bat out of hell. Derek was steps behind him, only stopping when he met Julian's wide eyes. It was then that Derek seemed to register the fact that chasing after the kanima was a _bad_ idea, and his features gradually reverted back to human, though his brow remained furrowed and his eyes were alight with anger.

"You okay?" Derek asked, looking at the first aid kit in alarm.

"The Sheriff," Julian said, quickly turning back the way he'd come as he realised he'd been standing stalk still for far too long. The adrenaline rushing through his veins had finally begun to wear off, his legs like lead as he put his hand on the doorknob only for Derek to grab his shoulder.

"Jules, we have to get out of here. The cops are coming and the Argents-"

Knocking his brother's arm off, Julian glared at his brother. "The Sheriff's injured."

"And Stilinski and the traitor can take care of it," Derek practically spat. There was something hidden behind the anger and betrayal in his tone, but Julian couldn't sort through to it without his sense of smell or taste. Julian was so preoccupied with trying to read his brother's emotions that the words took a moment to actually sink in.

"Wait, what?"

"Scott's been feeding information to Gerard the whole damn time," Derek seethed. "I heard them talking in the hall."

The words felt like a kick in the teeth. And after the day Julian had been having, he was sick and tired of bombs being dropped. He wanted desperately to just brush the words away, but while Derek was many things, a liar wasn't one of them.

But Scott of all people?

For a moment, Julian just stood there. Then he turned on his heel, walking back down the hall. The Sheriff was injured and he had the first aid kit. The Argents could shoot up the place all they liked. He was a Hale, and that meant they helped people. Human or not. And right now, whatever was going on with Scott could wait. Derek was shouting at him, but that didn't matter. Not right now.

And so he walked through the doorframe and dropped to his knees, yanking on the blue latex gloves before taking the gauze out of its sterile packaging, pretending that his hands were shaking because of the venom and the cold rather than the confusion and growing feeling of betrayal.

 _No,_ he told himself as he carefully set the Sheriff's head on the gauze, not wanting to put any pressure on the wound in case of a skull fracture.

 _No way. Not Scott._

The first thing Scott had asked him when Julian had come to Beacon Hills was if he was okay. The guy was honest, determined, moral, and he had done nothing but try to solve the kanima situation peacefully and to protect the people around him. He'd been doing a better job of it than the Hale family had been.

After all, Julian thought to himself as he waited for the ambulance to arrive, after all the shit he'd gone through with Scott over the past month, giving him a chance to explain himself seemed more than reasonable.

Julian owed him that much.


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note: Few quick things: first, I _may_ have forgotten that the US doesn't have free healthcare. Sorry, Sheriff Stilinski. In all seriousness, g** **iven that he was suspended from duty as opposed to being fired, I'm going to assume that his bills were _probably_ covered. He was injured in the line of duty... Regardless, he's got a mild concussion so he's not worrying about surgery bills or staying at the hospital for an extended period of time. As for Scott and Julian; they are getting there. Slowly. But I didn't want to put Julian and Allison at odds in that sense (they've been through similar experiences with their families and they'd make good friends if they had time to get to know each other) and if felt out of character for Julian to just start hitting on Scott. Especially when he already has a girlfriend (even if the relationship is strained.) **

**Their relationship will be evolving soon, but first Scott needs some time and I wanted to give the end of season two more of a focus on the Hales (specifically Julian's relationship with his brother).**

 **Thanks.**

* * *

It was just past two in the afternoon when Julian managed to drag himself out of his bedroom. Deaton had left several hours earlier; concerned but unable to put off his patients. The veterinarian's concern was hardly misplaced: Julian had spent the entire day before in bed, buried under his sheet slipping in and out of a fitful sleep. He'd been downstairs a grand total of once to raid the fridge for an apple and a strawberry jelly sandwich that tasted like nothing on the way down.

His bedroom had become a fortress of sorts; the blankets over top of him a secondary wall to prevent the world from coming in. Reality found a way though as it always did, and Julian eventually found that he couldn't ignore the rust-coloured smears on the blankets or the pang in his stomach.

And so Julian scarfed down another sandwich with a glass of water that was too-cold and tasted vaguely metallic, pretending that the grimy, sore feeling would go away with a shower. Oliver plunked himself down on Julian's foot and gazed up at the werewolf with a kind of pity in his one good eye. Coming from a dog that had been hit by four cars, had lost an eye and a large chunk of his large, bat-like ears, and who couldn't quite keep his tongue in his mouth, the pity only served to reinforce how shitty Julian felt. Even so, Julian couldn't bring himself to knock the dog off his foot, and allowed the corgi to cut off the circulation to his foot.

Experience had taught Julian that once he got up he had to keep moving. Retreating would only prolong the inevitable. As much as he wanted to lie down in his bed in defeat, he couldn't. Using that knowledge, he forced himself to stand, trudging upstairs to the bathroom where he was confronted by his reflection in the mirror.

To say that he looked terrible was an understatement. His hair was a rat's nest of tangles and matted sections from a combination of sweat, dirt, blood, and hiding under a blanket for over a day. A tentative comb through with his fingers revealed a _leaf_ along with several knots.

The rest of his body was hardly in better shape. Shifting fully had done what it always had; ripped his body apart from the inside out and drained him beyond completely to leave behind purpling bruises around his swollen, aching joints. The parts of his skin that weren't covered in scrapes or bruises were coated with a crusty brown substance that seemed to be a combination of dirt and blood. Not all of it his own.

 _It's always like this,_ Julian tried to reassure himself. Fully turning was something he hadn't done in five years for a good reason. It wasn't just because he'd been terrified of what he'd do if he lost control as completely as his father had.

Trying to ignore the bruises along with the blood on the tile floor of the bathroom where the cuts on his feet had opened up, Julian yanked on the handle in the shower and set the water to scalding.

He needed time to think. Or, more accurately, to stop thinking. To get away from the thoughts that followed him no matter how he tried to outmaneuver them. He needed a break and he needed a shower. Beacon Hills had stayed out of his life for six years. It could wait for half an hour more.

The showerhead had two settings: Basically Hail and Barely Any Water. Julian went for hail. Sure, the heavy droplets of water slamming into his battered body was far from comfortable, but it was controllable. He could turn it off if he had to, unlike everything else.

Besides, he reasoned, there wasn't another way to get the blood and dirt off. And it had to come off. It _had_ to. It was a constant reminder of the events of the night before, and it had to come off.

The water pooling at his feet had gone from brown and pink back to clear several minutes before Julian really registered it. The burning sensation in his arm was what finally alerted him to the fact that he was just scrubbing off skin at this point.

And yet Beacon Hills was still clinging to him, slipping under his skin. Just like it always had.

And he hated that.

In a moment of frustration, Julian threw the washcloth; just wanting to get the sopping thing away from him. Like he could throw all his problems away with the stupid little towel. As the cloth smacked against the tile and slid down the wall, Julian's mood quickly worsened; the anger surging up until it bubbled over into nothing and he sunk down onto the floor of the shower with the water hammering into his skull.

Tilting his head back so that the water pelted his face, Julian simply sat there, trying to find the will to stand back up.

It wasn't as simple as that though. His limbs were leaden and sore; weighed down more by thoughts of Gerard, Jackson and Peter.

Gerard had always been a figure of fear and discussion among the packs. A hunter who had gone up against more wolves than anyone could count and yet still stood. There were whispers, certainly. Rumours that perhaps the Argents were becoming less and less concerned with their duty and more with wiping out anyone they had an excuse to.

Those had been rumours though, and some had honestly believed that the man could be reasoned with. Julian's father had been one of those people. Talia had been so uneasy, so adamant that this was a terrible idea, but she couldn't tell him not to go. They had been friends for near twenty years, and everyone knew that an O'Shea was about as likely to back down from their position as a Hale.

And now the monster that had twisted Duke into the _thing_ he'd become was in control of the boogey man. Matt's body had been found in the stream with bruises around his neck and Jackson had been nowhere to be found. It didn't take a genius to put two and two together.

Gerard was ruthless, and he was now in possession of a weapon that couldn't be stopped.

Julian didn't have the type of knowledge required to defeat something like this. His mother had trained Laura as best she could, however, they had thought they'd have years to cover what they had to. And Laura had left the supernatural in Beacon Hills as best she could. Her boyfriends had been as human as it was possible to be, and she'd purposely avoided reaching out to anyone form their old life. Julian had followed suit, and he was beginning to regret thinking that they could really cut away such an integral part of who they were.

The only living person who could compete with Talia's knowledge was the one person Julian wished was still in the ground.

A year ago, Peter had been the uncle who played awful country music. He'd bought Julian his first skateboard and had spent the entire summer helping Vince set up a treehouse for the kids. A treehouse that was horribly uneven and swayed dangerously in even the slightest breeze. The knowledge that Peter was the one who had killed Laura had been a blow that had sent Julian reeling for weeks. But even then Julian hadn't been forced to truly confront that fact. Not fully. And not in the way he was being now.

Bringing his knees up to rest his chin on, Julian sat for a moment, water dripping down his face and bringing with it a truth he didn't want to acknowledge.

Gerard was going to kill them all. Whatever he'd done to get Scott to cooperate was just the beginning. Kate had learned everything she had from that man, and he was going to avenge her with little regard to who got caught in the crossfire. Ruthless and in control of Jackson, Gerard wasn't going to wait much longer for he finally did what he had come to Beacon Hills for.

And Peter was the best chance at stopping him.

The realisation was one that Julian had been desperately trying to avoid. The fact that his choices were being killed or making a deal with the devil was something he didn't want to face. And yet he didn't have a choice. Just like getting out of bed, it was going to happen sooner or later.

Forcing himself to his feet, Julian shut off the water and shook his head like a dog. He'd always been realistic. Optimism was all well and good until you were faced with a problem that needed to be solved immediately. Holding hands around a campfire wasn't going to do shit to stop Gerard.

Peter was a monster. That was a question. He'd killed Laura in cold blood; ripped her in half for Derek to find. But he was useful. Julian needed him. If they were going to stand any chance against Gerard, Peter was a necessity. At least for now.

And after that? If they survived the coming days?

If that happened, and Peter was left standing before him?

If he was being truly honest with himself, Julian wasn't entirely sure that his eyes wouldn't be blue.

* * *

School wasn't Julian's favourite place when he was feeling fine and had people to talk to. At least the building had been a time of relative quiet from the shit show going on outside. But now it was just a reminder that everything was wrong. Spring break had been a brief reprieve from Gerard, but it was over. He'd spent every moment he'd been back jumpy and skittish. Greenberg had tapped his shoulder to ask for a pencil and Julian had nearly punched him in the face. Even after Julian realised that he wasn't in any immediate danger, he was still tempted. The knowledge of who he was meeting after school had him in a fairly rotten mood to say the least.

Still, even with faded bruises and a scowl on his face to rival Derek's, Julian looked like a ray of sunshine compared to Stiles.

To be kind, Stiles looked like he'd shoved his finger in a plug socket. He was completely shot and was moving about erratically and nervously. More so than normal. It was like keeping silent was only adding to the build up, and Julian was beginning to worry about what would happen when the dam finally broke. As much of an asshole as Julian could be, he wasn't going to go worsening the situation, and he felt on a strange obligation to help Stiles out. So he forced thoughts of Peter from his mind and pasted a smile on his face that was quickly abandoned after Danny gave him a weird look.

"I heard your dad got his job back," Julian began, glancing sidelong at the teacher to ensure that the man wasn't going to yell at them for 'Using group project time for casual conversations and wasting valuable class time and resources.' With Danny sitting next to them, he couldn't exactly come out and ask 'How are you doing after the lizard attack?'

"Turns out when half the department is dead you can't be too picky about who's leading it," Stiles responded, pen tapping against the paper and leaving a series of dots on the rough copy of their report.

"Your dad's a good guy," Julian told him. "They wouldn't have chosen him if they thought he couldn't do the job."

Stiles nodded mostly to himself and changed the dots he was drawing to an uneven spiral.

"So he's feeling better?" Julian probed, resisting the urge to knock the pen out of Stiles' hand.

"He's still a bit dizzy and he's supposed to be taking it easy, but he's alive." Clearing his throat, Stiles looked up. "Thanks, by the way," he said seriously.

Uncomfortable with the attention, Julian shifted awkwardly. "Guess first aid is useful after all," he said.

"And hopefully not necessary again," Danny added, tucking his phone in his pants pocket and rejoining the conversation with a faint frown. "It's the championship game tonight; we need everyone we've got if we're going to win."

"That's tonight?" Julian asked, eager to change to topic away from their impending doom.

"Yes." Raising an eyebrow, a smile tugged at the corners of Danny's lips. "I thought our team captain would've told you." Turning to Stiles, "Are you going?" Danny asked.

"Someone needs to warm the bench," Stiles half-joked, a smile stirring his unsettled demeanour.

"Have you talked to Scott? Even if he can't play, we can't be missing a team captain."

Frowning, Julian turned to Stiles. "Isn't Jackson the other team captain?" he asked slowly, careful to keep his voice level. It sounded suspiciously like Danny was implying that Jackson was going to be there. At the game. Tonight.

"Yeah, that's why he's going to be at the game," Danny said, raising an eyebrow at the silent exchange Julian and Stiles were having. "If you guys could talk to Scott…"

"I haven't really had a chance to talk with him. He's been busy," Stiles explained. "With the whole being sho-" Eyes widening, Stiles quickly backtracked and corrected his mistake. "Being _shook up._ About Allison. And the two of them breaking up. That is why he's… shook up."

"Because of her mom, I heard," Danny said, graciously ignoring the obvious lie. "Explains why she's not at school."

So did the fact that she was plotting to kill Derek, but Julian didn't think this was the most opportune time to bring that up.

"Scott's supposed to work tonight, I'll see if I can corner him then," Julian offered. "Tell him about Jackson. He wouldn't want to look like an ass in front of the team."

Stiles nodded, going to speak only to be interrupted by their history teacher.

"Are you three doing your work?" Mr. Westover demanded, leering over the group like a vulture. "Because it doesn't sound like it."

"We're discussing the fact that Julian and I were held at gunpoint for five hours," Stiles responded, looking up at the teacher with wide eyes. "It was traumatic and I feel it's important to discuss those issues."

"It can help with the healing process," Julian added. Next to him, Danny raised an eyebrow that he elected to ignore.

With a sigh and badly concealed eye roll, Mr. Westover walked off. "Just get your report done."

"Can't believe that worked," Stiles muttered under his breath. "Guy's usually a hardass."

"You look like shit, Stiles," Julian explained bluntly.

"So do you!" Stiles shot back defensively.

"Yes, but I look like I got in a fight," Julian said. "You look like you haven't slept in four days and have been living off of coffee."

"That's more accurate than you know," Stiles murmured.

"You do look like hell, man," Danny said in agreement. "I mean, I don't really like you, but we need the team at their best if their going to win this. And that includes you. With the way things went last time, I wouldn't be surprised if we had spots to fill."

"I know," Stiles said, waving his hand as they he could brush away their concerns. " _'If you're going through Hell, keep going.'"_

"Winston Churchill," Julian murmured.

They were going through hell, and they were about to face a demon.

 _So keep going._

 _No matter what, keep going._

* * *

The constant barking had died down after about fifteen minutes and the new arrivals seemed to accept that Julian wasn't going to eat them. Shifting fully had no doubt screwed with his scent; the wolf stronger than it initially had been. Given the situation at school, Julian could understand feeling trapped while a monster waited in the front office.

Even smelling strongly of vomit, antiseptic, sickness and wet dog, the clinic was oddly comforting all the same. The paint was a pleasant shade of blue and the windows allowed the mid-afternoon light to stream through into the reception area. After some practice angling and careful chair positioning and switching, Julian had found the optimal seat in the waiting area in which to draw. Soon, a forest had sprouted on the paper. Thick-trunked trees that reached up to the sky; so closely packed together that they were fighting for the sun's life-giving light. In the undergrowth, among the twisting roots and mossy rocks, a pair of glowing eyes looked out at the world.

Getting back into painting and drawing over the break had been a pleasant change from running for his life. He'd finished his art project and had started to block his bedroom walls to get the sizing grid just right.

Plus, the paint on his hands had meant he couldn't check his phone. At least not without getting his acrylics all over it. Because Scott could apparently take on Peter and Kate Argent, but was incapable of picking up his fucking phone.

Brow furrowing, Julian's grip on the grass-green pencil tightened and the line came much darker than he'd intended. He went to try and remedy the mistake in time to see the door swing open, the bell ringing. Quickly looking up, Julian felt an odd pang of disappointment when he realised that it was a tall woman with glasses struggling to let her Bernese mountain dog fit its cone-covered head through the door.

Before Julian could give the unexpected emotion further thought, it slipped away when the door was suddenly caught by a familiar tan, well-muscled arm.

Smiling politely, Scott gestured to the back of the clinic. "Deaton's right through there," he told her.

"Actually," Deaton said, gliding out of the back with a smile on his face. "I'm right here. Come on back, Liz. Scott, you don't start for another ten minutes, so take your time."

After waiting until the woman disappeared into the back, the door closing behind her, Julian offered Scott a pointed smile. "In case it wasn't clear, the ten minutes is because we need to talk."

Scott let out a slow sigh and walked over to the desk with guilt in his conflicted eyes. "Look, I know I've been-"

"Ignoring all my calls? Since you're doing that to everyone, I'm going to try not to take it personally," Julian said. He bit his lip as he tried to find the words. Hurtful words came easily, and he knew how they could come bubbling up as the betrayal he was feeling poured out. When Julian finally spoke, Scott's eyes flicked back up from wherever he'd been staring to meet Julian's.

"I know about Gerard," Julian told Scott, cutting him off before he could say anything else. He had to get the words out first. "Not just that he's got Jackson. Derek overheard you two talking at the station."

"Julian," Scott began, real urgency in his tone. "He-"

"Threatened you?" Julian guessed. The hurt look in Scott's eyes told him that he'd failed to keep the betrayal out of his voice.

"He threatened my mom!" Scott exclaimed, real fear in his eyes and in the air, easily detectable even among the odours of the clinic. "He… Julian, he was in my _house,_ " he whispered hoarsely.

The words felt like a blow. Sure, Julian had guessed Gerard would've threatened Scott. And it made sense for the psychopath to threaten Scott's family and friends. But drawing a conclusion was totally different then being in front of Scott in that moment. The dark haired beta slumped into the chair next to Julian without an ounce of resistance as he clasped his shaking hands in front of him.

"Jackson had her by the throat. She was right in front of me and I couldn't do anything," Scott continued, frustration breaking through the guilt and fear that was twisting around him.

The wolf part of Julian's brain saw the stress in Scott's posture and in his words. The pain in them. The secrets Scott had been keeping and the guilt at being forced to keep them. He wanted to protect them all, and in doing so he was taking everything on. And it was killing him.

If it had been a physical wound, Julian would've known what to do. He could bandage that and stop him from bleeding out. He could take some of the pain away. This... This was something else. He couldn't take away emotional pain with a touch.

Hesitantly, Julian set his hand on Scott's arm. It was an empty gesture; he couldn't take any of this kind of hurt, but it was an impulse. The instinct to comfort a pack member. Someone he genuinely cared about more than he wanted to admit.

"It's not your fault," Julian said after a moment, Scott looking up at him through dark lashes. "I get it," Julian said, awkwardly removing his hand and quickly crossing his arms over his chest. "I mean sure Derek's an asshole, but so am I, and if Gerard threatened him… I get it. You didn't do anything wrong."

Scott's smile was tight and almost fragile, and it faded as quickly as it came. "He wants to kill you and Derek," he said softly. This time, the gaze that met Julian's had confusion in the mix. "He wants the Hales… I don't… I can't lose my mom, but I don't want you to get hurt."

"Even Derek?" Julian remarked with a crooked grin. The joke was rewarded with another faint smile from Scott, and Julian's grin turned into a genuine smile before he became serious once again. "Gerard always wanted us dead," Julian said with a shrug. "He was going to come after us eventually. If anything, you probably bought us time," he added thoughtfully. "If it was anyone else, they'd have sold us out in a heartbeat. And if you hadn't been trying to help Jackson, I think Gerard would've won a while ago."

Smiling weakly, Scott nudged Julian's arm with his own, bringing the darker haired teen's attention back to him. "You're not great at the whole 'looking on the bright side' thing," he said, trying to defuse some of the heavy tension with a joke.

"That's what you're here for. This way I can be bitter, cynical and withdrawn in peace."

The silence that fell was, if not comfortable, not exactly uncomfortable either. Scott's body was still slumped in the chair but he wasn't coiled as tightly as he had been before. All of his muscles were relaxed except for his hands which were clasped in front of him. As if finally getting the secret he'd been hiding for weeks out into the open was a kind of relief.

And Julian didn't want to take that away from him. There was a tiny voice at the back of his head telling him to lie. Or not even lie; simply omit the truth. _Two completely different things,_ the voice argued.

 _No,_ Julian told himself. _They're not._

Scott had been honest with him. Now was the time to return the favour.

"I think there might be a way to beat Gerard," he admitted slowly. Scott turned to him with a flicker of hope in his deep brown eyes. "There's someone who knows about this stuff. And I think he might know how to deal with Jackson too."

"Why do I get the feeling you're about to say 'but'?" Scott asked.

"Because it's Peter."

"Peter's dead." Scott shook his head and repeated the words, trying to convince himself that Julian couldn't be leading up to what he was. "He's dead. We set him on fire and Derek ripped his throat out. We checked. He can't be back."

"Apparently he can," Julian informed him, unconsciously bringing his hand back to trail his fingers over the claw marks at the back of his neck. He still wasn't sure how much Peter had taken from him, nor was he entirely sure that his uncle had given everything back. Or that he hadn't added anything in.

"How?" Scott asked in a choked off voice. The scent of fear was beginning to scent the air once more and Scott's posture became stiffened, his foot beginning to tap at the ground frantically.

Peter had dragged Scott into their world to make him a killer; intending on forcing Scott to kill his friends and family before moving on to Peter's quest for revenge. After months of stalking and threatening, Scott's reaction was perfectly natural.

Which made what Julian was about to say all the harder.

"I think he's the only person who can help," Julian continued. "Gerard has Jackson… I don't think there's another option."

"So you want to ask _Peter Hale_ for help?!" Scott exclaimed, shooting to his feet with a distraught look on his face. "After all he did…"

"I know exactly what Peter did," Julian said curtly, voice dangerously low. "So believe me when I say that we really don't have any other options."

"But it's _Peter…_ " Scott protested weakly before suddenly his arms dropped to his sides as a realisation hit him. "You… He killed your sister."

Smiling tightly, Julian stood up in an effort to distract himself from the tears threatening to well up. "Which is why if we didn't need him, he'd be dead." Taking a deep breath, Julian slid his feet across the tile so he was standing with feet shoulder-width apart, a simple effort to centre himself in a world that was having none of it. "Gerard's going to kill us, and Peter may be a dick but he hates the Argents. And he knows more about this than Derek or I do. Scott, Jackson's going to be at the game tonight. I don't… I can't lose Derek, and I don't want to die because of Gerard Argent of all people. And if Peter's the only way to stop him, then I'm willing to take that chance."

Scott tucked his hands into his pockets, clearly not agreeing but unable to argue. "So it's all ending tonight then? At the game."

Clenching his fists, "I'm not talking to Peter and then getting myself killed," Julian stated vehemently. "No fucking way. If Gerard wants a fight, then he's going to get one."

Nodding slowly, Scott sucked in a breath and looked Julian dead in the eye, still frustrated and stressed, but standing with a sense of conviction. "From all of us."

Julian nodded, repeating the words Stiles had earlier. " _If you're going through hell, keep going."_

* * *

The house was a skeleton of what it had once been. Bare, charred bones with no body left to support. No one could rebuild it. The only option was to smash everything apart and build over it. To try to erase what had happened. Maybe a skilled enough builder could've scavenged some parts so at least something was left of the grand old house, but that was something that was never going to happen.

Standing in the driveway of the house, Julian scowled. He had not come home for heavy-handed metaphors for his relationship with his family.

"I still think if we got a few contractors we could fix this place right up," Peter commented, studying the house with careful nonchalance. For someone who had climbed out of a grave not a week earlier, Peter was looking remarkably well.

Glaring at his uncle, Julian used every ounce of his self-control to pour his aggression and anger into his words rather than his claws. "We're not here for a property assessment."

"No, we're here to have a lovely family chat. Are we going to all sit around the kitchen table like we used to or are we going for more of an informal setting?"

"We're going for the setting where you help out or I rip your throat out," Julian stated.

Peter sighed. "Jules, we both know that you're not really the murdering type, and blue looks much better on Derek. Though I suppose anything's better than that nasty yellow-"

"You should be really careful about what you say next," Julian hissed, fangs pushing through his gums partway and eyes glowing a sickly shade of lemon yellow. The action only served to egg Peter on further.

"Or what? You'll get mad?" Peter's tone was verging on mocking at this point, and Julian's claws were digging into the palms of his hands. Catching his nephew's obvious anger, Peter continued. "What? We both know that you're not going to kill me-"

"Maybe not," Julian admitted. "But I'm more than willing to help Derek bury the body."

Peter laughed at that, a broad smile on his face as he strode confidently towards the front door. "Maybe there's hope for you after all. Now, let's go see what Derek has planned for my welcoming party."

* * *

In fairness, a piece of glass whipped at his throat was probably on the warmer side of the possible receptions Peter had been likely to receive.

His uncle didn't seem to agree.

Turning the shard of the mirror over in his hands, Peter gave Derek an annoyed look. "I'd expected a slightly warmer welcome. But point taken."

"Next time you come back from the dead we'll be sure to get balloons," Julian told him, stepping into the husk of the living room so that he was spaced equally between the two without being in the way should they start fighting.

"Why is he here?" Derek demanded, the books on the table behind him forgotten as he studied their uncle with hate in his eyes.

"Why I'm here to offer my assistance," Peter said with an amused smile. Tossing the mirror aside, Peter adopted an almost lecturing tone. "It's quite a situation you two have gotten yourselves into. I mean, I'm out of commission for a few weeks and suddenly there's lizard people, geriatric psychopaths, Julian's gallivanting around the forest eating squirrels and you're cooking up werewolves out of every self-esteem deprived adolescent in town."

"You ate a squirrel?" Derek's gaze turned to Julian, annoyance bleeding through the anger.

"It was a possum," Julian replied, shifting uncomfortably. "He's the one who killed people," he added, jabbing a finger at his uncle in an effort to get the conversation back on track.

"Now, Julian, let's not try and ignore the fact that there's a good chance that without my help you'll probably end up killing someone and then peeing on a fire hydrant," Peter said, tutting confidently before carrying on. "Or dead, seeing as how Gerard has a _bit_ of a grudge against us."

"Because of you," Derek pointed out. His fists were tightly clenched and trembling as he tried to keep himself from ripping Peter's throat out for a second time.

"We're conveniently forgetting about that until Gerard is dealt with," Julian informed his brother, leaning back against the wall with a deepening scowl. Peter was a beyond massive dick, and the fact that they needed him alive was testing Julian's restraint.

The fact that Peter was right was only worsening the problem.

"See, Derek. I just want to help," Peter said with a sincerity that Julian probably would have believed if he hadn't known his uncle. "You two are the only family that I have left. You know there's still a lot that I can teach you, and you know that you need that information," he said, striding forwards and setting a hand on Derek's arm. "Can we just talk?"

Eyes moving slowly from the hand on his shoulder to Peter's face, a terse smile flicked across Derek's lips. "Sure," he said tightly. "Let's talk."

For a brief moment, Julian caught a glimpse of his uncle's stunned face as Derek through him into the banister.

Talking was going to wait a little longer.

* * *

"See, prime example right here," Peter said, dabbing delicately at his face to come away with bloody fingers. "I'm not healing as fast."

"My heart goes out to you," Julian responded dryly, pointedly pushing the sleeves of his shirt back up to reveal his scarred and bruised arms. "That must be so hard."

"Sarcasm isn't an attractive quality, Jules," Peter murmured.

"Neither is being a murderer."

From his spot on the stairs, Derek let out a groan. "Will you two please shut up?"

"So you get to beat the shit out of him but I can't talk to him?" Julian asked, shooting a glare at his uncle.

"But that was _cathartic_ for him," Peter said, sounding to all the world like a teacher speaking with his students. "Given the total failure that has accompanied him, I completely understand that he's lashing out. You're just being petty."

"I changed my mind," Julian told Derek. "Let's kill him."

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't let all my hard work go to waste," Peter said, wiping the blood off onto his jeans and leaning casually against the wall. "Coming back from the dead isn't easy, you know." Apparently having realised that he was going to try a different tactic, Peter switched gears. "I'm not as strong as I used to be," he told Derek with sincerity that almost could have passed as genuine. "I need a pack. An Alpha. Like you," he continued, trying to slither back into Derek's good graces. "I need you as much as you need me."

"Why would I want help from a total psycho?" Derek asked, gazing up at his uncle with real anger in his eyes.

Peter rolled his eyes. "First of all, I'm not a _total_ psycho," he defended. "By the way, you're the one that slashed my throat wide open," he reminded them before waving it off as though _he_ was the one being forgiving. "But we're all works in progress, right? So..." Peter trailed off, waiting for a reaction from Derek other than him tightening his grip on his hands. Julian got the impression that Derek was imagining they were clasped around Peter's throat. He certainly was.

"Bullshit apologies aside," Julian interrupted, "He's right," he admitted, the words causing physical pain. "I hate him too, but we need him. Gerard's going to kill us, and we're out of options. This is going to end tonight. And I'd rather it didn't end with me being dead."

"We need each other," Peter agreed. "Sometimes, when you need help, you turn to people you'd never expect."

Gritting his teeth together, Derek gazed up at Peter with eyes filled with resignation and hate, the irises burning red. "Start talking."

* * *

"Our family has protected this town for years, and we've gained a lot of information along the way. About how our world works. About where supernatural blurs from the human world," Peter began.

"Get to the point," Julian interrupted, glancing at the screen of his phone with a frown. "We're running out of a time."

"Julian, you can't rush these sorts of things," Peter said breezily. "As I was saying, my lovely sister spent years trying to separate the myths from the truth as you well know."

"We're not letting you live so you can tell us what we already know," Derek reminded him.

"There's a myth," Peter said, his casual demeanour not entirely disappearing though his tone became more serious and his words filled with intensity. "That you can cure a werewolf simply by calling out its Christian name."

"It's just a myth," Derek stated.

"It's a pile of bullshit," Julian interrupted. "If using someone's full name made them human, I'd have stopped turning the first time I was late for dinner."

"Sometimes myths and legends bear a hint of truth," Peter said, leaning forwards with a knowing smile playing across his lips. "Our name is a symbol of who we are; the kanima has no identity. That's why it doesn't seek a pack."

Derek looked up from his hands, his expression unreadable. "It seeks a master."

"And who else grows up without a pack?" Peter asked. "No identity."

"An orphan," Derek said softly.

"Right. Jackson," Peter said, his smile widening as he finally got to his point. "And right now his identity is disappearing beneath a reptilian skin and you need to bring him back."

"And how are we supposed to do that?" Julian asked, studying his uncle with skepticism.

"Through his heart!" Peter half-shouted. "How else?!"

Frown morphing into a raised eyebrow, Derek regarded their uncle with a pointed look. "You know, in case you hadn't noticed, Jackson doesn't really have too much of a heart to begin with," he said scornfully.

Peter shook his head, as though he were talking to a slow three year old rather than his grown nephew. "Not true," he stated. "He'd never admit it but there is one person. One young lady with whom Jackson shared a real bond," he said imploringly. "One person who can reach him. Who can save him."

"And you've been sharing her headspace for the past month," Julian said softly, disgust in his voice.

"Lydia," Derek breathed.

"You see, Julian was always the sensible one," Peter said. "But you? Your best ally has always been anger, Derek," he declared. "That's why you've always known that you need Scott more than anyone." Julian bristled at that but said nothing, allowing Peter to continue. "And even someone as burned and dead on the inside as me knows better than to underestimate the simple yet undeniable power of human love," he finished in a lowered, almost wistful tone.

"If we get Lydia, can she break Gerard's hold on Jackson?" Julian asked, fixing Peter with a serious gaze.

"I believe so, yes."

"Which gives us enough time to kill him?" Derek's words didn't really sound like a question.

"No," Julian corrected. "We don't kill Jackson. We break Gerard's hold. We're not killing him unless we absolutely have to." Taking a deep breath, Julian looked to his brother and his uncle with an unwavering gaze. "We break the control and when Jackson's out of the way, we take care of the real problem."

"Gerard," Peter stated.

Julian nodded.

Derek looked at his younger brother in surprise. "You're sure about this?"

Julian nodded again, tightening his hands into fists. Standing in the burnt remains of his home brought a sense of clarity to the matter. Brought him to the conclusion that Peter had come to the moment he stepped out of his grave.

If they were going to survive this, only one side could come out standing. And that meant one thing:

Gerard Argent had to die.


	19. Chapter 19

Drumming his fingers against the car door was doing little to vent Julian's growing frustration or to ease his nerves. Judging by how tightly Derek was gripping the steering wheel, the soft tap of Julian's fingers on the plastic was doing little for his brother's mood either, yet Julian couldn't bring himself to care enough to stop. If Peter got to sit in the passenger seat instead of him then Derek could deal with some quiet tapping, the speed of which picked up as Julian's thoughts turned to the man sitting in front of him.

If Julian had ever wavered in his conviction that Peter was a massive ass, the fact that the man was humming along to _Metallica_ was the final nail in the coffin. It wasn't just that Peter couldn't sing or that Julian had less patience than Derek when it came to dealing with people annoying him. It wasn't even that Peter was humming the rhythm at the wrong tempo.

No, it was the sheer confidence with which Peter was doing it. The complete, unwavering belief that he was completely safe from having to pay or face any consequences for his actions. That sitting in the car, unarmed and unprepared with the family of the girl he tore in half- his own niece- he was completely safe from any justice for what he'd done.

 _You could kill him,_ a tiny voice whispered in the edges of Julian's thoughts. Just reach forward and rip the bastard's throat out before Derek could do anything. If he even would.

Peter's jugular was within reach and the sound of the man's all to steady heartbeat was like a drum, thundering away in Julian's ears. Too slow. Too calm for that of a killer.

Less than a minute.

That was all it would take. Less than a minute.

By then, Peter's heart would be beating much too fast, forcing the blood out of his body even faster. He'd be floundering then. Trying to breath through a hole in his neck as the blood rushed to fill his mouth.

All it would take was a single swipe. Didn't even have to be steady. Just deep.

It wouldn't be immediate, but it wouldn't be slow. And he'd feel it. Every bloody second of it.

Julian wondered if Peter would be afraid.

Laura had been. The stench was all over the body. Impossible to cover with the wolfsbane she'd been buried in.

The officer had come to the house at four in the morning with that stupid apologetic smile plastered onto his face. He'd feigned empathy and compassion when Julian could smell only discomfort and guilty impatience. The man barely had the decency to wait for Julian to regain some sense of composure before he'd finally asked the question he'd been sent to.

 _"Your sister- Laura,"_ the man had started, condescending and indelicate. _"She was buried under a symbol; a large spiral made up of some kind of flower. The local officers mentioned that your family kept some… older traditions. Does this mean anything to you?"_

 _"Revenge,"_ Julian had responded quietly, refusing to look up to meet the man in the eye. The statement wasn't a lie, but it was not the truth either. The symbol meant more than just revenge; it was a promise. Blood for blood.

A promise that if you hurt a member of the pack, they would chase you to the ends of the earth.

There was no escape for those who hurt the family.

And yet there Julian was. Sitting in the car with a man who had murdered his older sister. And yet Peter was completely confident that neither Julian nor Derek would raise a finger against him.

 _You need him,_ Julian told himself.

 _And then what?_

Was he going to spend the rest of his life making passive aggressive comments whenever he saw his uncle? He could call Peter every name under the moon but that wasn't going hurt him. And if there was one thing Julian was absolutely certain of, it was that he wanted to hurt him.

Clenching his hand into a tight fist, wincing as his elongated nails cut deep into the flesh of his palm, Julian's eyes lingered on the spiral he'd scratched into the car door. The thin white lines turned a shade of vibrant red, identical to the blood leaking out of Julian's palm. Then the red flashed to white, then back to red. An ambulance passing by.

Brows furrowing, Julian wondered if he'd been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed the siren, only to realise that it wasn't on. The ambulance's lights were flashing more out of a force of habit than any sense of urgency.

Of course, there was no need to hurry when you were carrying the dead.

Keeping his hand clenched tightly, Julian looked out the window to be greeted by a scene that seemed to have come off the screen of the beginning of a crime show.

The school parking lot was packed full of cars trying to make their way out and huddled groups of teenagers waiting for their worried parents, all cast in the pulsing red and blue lights of the squad cars that had invaded the area. Several of the cars were marked with the logo of the police from the county over; called in to help with the recent personal shortages of the Beacon Hills department.

Someone was dead.

The only remaining question was who.

"I suppose it's a bit too much to hope for that it's Gerard," Peter comment in a bored tone, getting out of the car to survey the parking lot with casual disregard. The fact that Julian's mind had been on the same thought as his uncle's only soured his mood further, his claws digging deeper into his palms.

The dark haired teen slammed the door shut hard enough to warrant an annoyed look from Derek. Rolling his eyes skyward, the Alpha took a deep breath as he collected his thoughts. "We should find Scott," he decided after a moment. "See if we can figure out what went down and if they know where Lydia is."

Peter was as ever unimpressed. "Someone died. Gerard was why. What else do we need to know?"

"Who died? How they died? Where they are now?" Julian interjected irritably. Sticky blood was beginning to leak through his fingers, and the sharp coppery scent was leaking into the air. Cutting through the haze of human fear, grief, and car exhaust to reach Derek, whose jaw tightened as his expression turned from semi-annoyed to concerned. As his brother's eyes landed on him, Julian's fingers dug automatically deeper and for a brief moment his eyes glowed lemon yellow. Blinking his eyes back to a muddled grey, Julian took a deep breath forced himself to relax, his hands now open at his sides, finger stained bright red.

Something akin to pity crossed Derek's face, and Julian shot him a look that would have caused most people to at least step off. "Don't. Not now."

They didn't have time now. It was a tiny slip. One of many, Julian was reluctantly willing to admit, but now wasn't the time to worry about that. There were bigger, more immediate problems. This could wait. It had to.

"Jules," Derek said, expression softening.

"We've got bigger problems now, okay?" Julian shot back, jaw clenching as he heard the waver in his voice. He was a Hale, and he was not _weak._ He could handle his shit for one more night. He didn't have any other options, and Derek was lying to himself if he thought they did. "If we survive tonight, we can worry about it then, alright? For now, we need to find Lydia."

Derek nodded, though his disapproval was radiating off of him, impossible to miss as he stared his younger brother down. Doing his best not to shift, not to show any signs of fragility, Julian simply stood, gaze fixed on Derek's nose because he couldn't meet his eyes. He was almost grateful when Peter decided to speak up.

"Any idea how we're supposed to find her then?" Spreading his arms out, Peter pointedly looked around the crowded and hectic parking lot. "It's a little busy, and I'll be more than a little impressed if either of you can find her scent in this mess."

Spotting a familiar head several inches taller than everyone else, Julian tossed his uncle a snide smile. "Don't need to." Turning away from the two of them, Julian waited until he'd put some distance between them before he allowed the smile to evaporate from his face, hastily wiping his shaky hands off on his jeans. Taking a few breaths, he regained his composure and walked up to the classmate he'd spotted.

"Hey, do-" The words died on Julian's lips as Danny turned, and the beta silently berated himself for not paying attention. He should have seen it a mile away let alone a few feet. He should have seen the normally confident posture replaced by exhaustion. He should have noticed the grief in the air way before Danny turned around to face him.

Shell-shocked was the most appropriate word Julian could think of to describe the look on Danny's face. Nothing else really seemed to cover it all. The distant, unseeing eyes, tight lips, fingers playing with a key ring seemingly without noticing. The faint quiver of a muscle that was the only sign of how hard Danny was straining to keep it together.

Julian knew that look. He'd seen it in the mirror more than enough times.

"Julian. I didn't see you at the game." Danny's tone was flat, empty, devoid of emotion yet strained at the same time.

The words were simple statements of fact. Julian knew them as well. The simple facts that seemed to be holding together a world that was crumbling beneath their feet.

There was only one person at the game that Danny would react this way about. Only one person whose death would affect Danny in this way. But it couldn't be him. It couldn't be. It didn't make sense. And yet, it couldn't be anyone else.

"I wasn't," Julian answered, uncertain on how to deal with this situation. Usually, he was the one being asked questions by someone who had no idea what do say to him. This was… different. _So do what you wish they would have,_ he told himself. Danny had just lost his best friend, he didn't need some random classmate coming over to badger him with questions and probe him for information when all he wanted to do was leave.

Apparently Danny had already come to his own conclusions. "You're here about Stiles," he stated, nodding worriedly to himself and gesturing half-heartedly and much too fast at the school behind him. "Scott and the others are still talking with coach. The cops are all out and there's already volunteers… They'll find him."

Julian's thoughts came to a screeching halt as Danny's words hit him like a truck. Stiles was missing. Missing the same night that Jackson died. No- not missing. He'd been taken. And there was only one person who could be responsible.

The protect-pack part of Julian's brain kicked into overdrive, telling him to make a beeline for the school. To leave everyone in the dust and do something. But the human part prevented him from leaving. The part that took the wolf's sense of smell and understood that the pain in the air was a kind he was all too familiar with.

"Danny," he began, fumbling for the words to say that he understood.

"He's…" Danny's gaze was a million miles away, and as he spoke he allowed himself to relax, eyes welling up as he stopped fighting. "He was acting weird for weeks. Kept missing practice and calls, forgetting where he left his things. Snapping at people. I thought he was just being Jackson, you know?" he continued with a sad smile. "But I thought he just needed time. Some space. And now…" Danny faltered and swallowed hard. "They took the body away a few minutes ago. I… I have to go to the hospital. His parents…"

"Do you want a ride?" Julian asked as gently as he could. It was the one thing he could do that was helpful. With the way Danny's hands were shaking and how faraway his eyes were, it wouldn't be safe to let him behind the wheel. If Gerard had Stiles, there was a reason. And that reason was unlikely to be to store him in a place that was easy to get to. Julian wasn't sure he could help Stiles, but he could certainly give Danny a ride.

But Danny was already shaking his head. "My sister's coming to give me a ride to the hospital," he explained. "Thanks though."

Becoming increasingly aware of the eyes boring impatiently into his back, Julian winced and got to the reason he'd initially come over for. "Do you have any idea where Lydia is?"

Danny was too out of it to find the words unusual. "She was with Deputy Clark. She offered to give her a ride to the hospital." Catching sight of a car pulling in, Danny gave Julian a wave. "My sister's here."

Quickly thanking him, Julian offered Danny an empathetic nod and an apology before he turned back to where Peter and Derek were standing. Derek's usual frown was gone, replaced by a confused and thoughtful one, while Peter was feigning nonchalance with his posture. The man couldn't hide the analytical glint in his eye though. Not from family.

"It has to be Gerard," Derek declared sourly, using the man's name as a curse as he scowled. "I guess he got sick of his new pet."

Julian shook his head. "Something's wrong. It doesn't feel right," he said, unable to put words to the feeling at the back of his skull. "It doesn't make sense," he elaborated, frowning and gesturing inarticulately with fingers still tipped with red. "He wouldn't kill off Jackson this early."

Nodding in agreement, Peter fixed Derek with a pointed expression. "If Jackson's kicked the bucket it's because Gerard want it that way. And seeing as it's most likely to help kill you, we need to figure out why."

That got Derek's attention, though probably not in the way it had been intended to. "Only me?"

Peter shrugged. "Unless you two have been plastering signs all over telling people I'm alive, the man believes I'm dead. And Jules here is more useful alive." Catching Julian's surprised expression, Peter's lips twitched at the corners. "You really think he cares that you and your father don't talk? Gerard's a narcissist and a hunter; the demon wolf is a prize that he's unlikely to pass up."

Clenching his jaw shut, Julian tried and failed to shove down the fear rising in his stomach. Gerard was the school principal; he had access to Julian's school records. Including the name of his birth father.

Gerard hadn't killed him that night in the woods, instead patiently watching like some type of predator. Knowing that the pieces of a plan were falling into place. Julian had thought that plan involved a murder spree. This was somehow worse. Because Peter was right. Deucalion had survived Gerard's massacre only to go on to create a pack of predators. A real threat to the Argents. The kanima would give Gerard an even playing field, and Julian was the bait to draw them out.

Blood draining from his face, Julian felt a surge of panic rolling up. Gerard wouldn't care that he and his father hadn't spoken in seven years. He wouldn't care that Julian had spent those years distancing himself from every reminder of the man. That he'd spent the last seven years trying to regain some control over something far beyond his reach.

No, Gerard would care about the simple truth that Julian was Deucalion's son, and that if he hurt Julian, Deucalion would show up. Not out of any fatherly devotion. No, he'd show up out of pride and spite. But he would show up.

Swallowing hard, Julian realised that he was breathing too fast and that the world was starting to blur around him. Going to speak caused him to take another breath that was too short and too shallow, and he clamped his mouth shut, forcing the air out through closed lips to try and slow down his breathing. The last thing he needed right now was to panic. Inhaling through his nose once more, he let the air out slowly, and it was only when he was fairly sure he had some kind of a handle on his breathing that he spoke. "I'm going to go get Scott," he informed his worried brother. "See if we can find Stiles."

"And we can play researcher," Peter added, discarding his pretense of taking orders, genuine unease creeping into his tone. "We need to figure out what Gerard's up to." Turning back to Julian with something almost akin to concern in his eyes, he asked, "You said there was information in Harrison's journals? We'll start there."

"You sure you're alright?" Derek asked his brother, though he soon realised that he wasn't going to get an honest answer and amended his question. "And how are you going to find Scott anyways?"

"I'm fine," Julian insisted, scowling. "And he's in the school."

A frown touched Derek's face. "How do you…" Trailing off, Derek exchanged a quick look with Peter, something crossing his face that Julian's couldn't quite read. "Go," he said after a moment. "And Julian, watch yourself."

"You too," he responded, turning to his uncle. "You- You can go die in a ditch."

* * *

The locker room was like any other; it had lockers filled with equipment, benches spaced neatly throughout the room, and the smell made Julian's nose want to crawl off his face. One of the nice things about swimming, aside from the lack of a team, was that the smell of chlorine, while overpowering, meant that the change rooms didn't smell like crap. On the bright side, holding his breath would keep him from lapsing back into hyperventilating, and the smell was an almost pleasant diversion from the thought of Gerard and the old man's plans.

Taking one last deep breath of somewhat fresh air, Julian swung open the door, face instinctively scrunching up as he walked into the room. He found Scott and Isaac standing next to a badly bent locker door. Scott had changed out of his lacrosse gear and was holding a bunched up shirt in his hand as he nervously tapped his foot against the ground. Meanwhile Isaac was holding a shoe and was wearing an almost affronted expression.

Looking up, Scott's nervous face briefly turned into a faint smile before confusion replaced it. "I didn't think you were coming."

Self-consciously un-crinkling his face, Julian reluctantly walked into the room on legs that still felt too light. Even under the smell of sweat and cheap antiperspirant he could make out the fear and worry in the air. "So he is missing." It wasn't a question. Staring at the pieces of clothing in Scott and Isaac's hands, Julian found himself frowning. "You know if you guys need to track him it's better to catch a scent in a place that smells less," he said, the words coming out of his mouth near automatically.

"We can maybe try outside," Scott suggested, though he didn't move. Neither of them did. There was an elephant in the room and no one was addressing it.

Julian frowned. Being blunt to the point of sometimes brutal honesty hadn't endeared him to many people, but it was need here. "Scott, there's no point in tracking him if we already know where he is."

"At the Argents'," Scott murmured, studying the shirt in his hands.

"Exactly," Isaac said in agreement. "The place with all of the hunters. The hunters with the massive ammo stash."

"He might not be," Scott protested weakly. "There's a chance… Maybe they have another place?"

"It'll still be guarded," Julian pointed out. "And they're still armed to the teeth and trained to deal with werewolves."

Rounding on the two of them with anger born of worry, "Well I can't just leave him there!" Scott half-shouted, his voice breaking as he went on, "He's my best friend, and Gerard has him!"

"And we'll get him back," Julian reassured him. "But we need a plan that doesn't involve charging at people with guns and wolfsbane."

Clenching his jaw and grinding his teeth, Scott opened his mouth, then shut it. As the seconds ticked by, he deflated. "I shouldn't have left him alone," he said guiltily, tightening his grip on the shirt.

"If you hadn't, I'd be cut in two right about now," Isaac reminded him. Noting Julian's surprised expression, the curly haired teen elaborated, "Gerard. Asshole came at me with a sword."

"I know the feeling," Julian muttered, shifting his weight onto his other foot at the memory of the bloodied blade being pulled out of his stomach.

"You'd think he could use a modern weapon."

"He can't cut people in half with a pistol," Scott commented distractedly. Suddenly, the beta's grip on the shirt tightened again and Scott looked up with a spark of hope in his eye. "Wait, the sword!" he declared, his optimism returning.

Sharing a confused look with Julian, Isaac spoke. "What about the sword?"

"When we were out in the woods looking for Lydia! There was another werewolf… He cut him in half with the sword," Scott explained, shuddering at the memory before plowing forwards. "It's a murder weapon. It has to still have blood on it, right?"

"Even if it doesn't, it's not like a lot of people in Beacon Hills have swords lying around," Julian said with a shrug. He was about to ask what Scott was getting at when he realised that Scott had used the term 'murder weapon'. Eyes widening, he almost let out an impressed bark of laughter despite how shitty he felt.

Smiling with growing hope as he took in Julian's expression, Scott eagerly nodded. "He murdered someone, right? I mean, the police won't care if he was a werewolf or not."

"They will if he pleads insanity," Isaac retorted.

Already shaking his head, "That only matters if the defendant can't tell right from wrong, which Gerard clearly can," Julian explained. "Sister was a lawyer," he added as Isaac raised an eyebrow.

"Exactly!" Scott continued. "So if the police find Gerard's sword, maybe we can get him arrested. There's no way he can go up against them with the kanima! And if Gerard is arrested…"

"Then Stiles is safe," Julian finished, furrowing his brow thoughtfully as he tried to find any problems with the plan. Better to find any now than after they'd already put Scott's plan in motion. If they did. Though it wasn't exactly like they had a multitude of other options, and Stiles was depending on them. "But they can't just raid his house without permission," Julian said after a moment. "They need probable cause."

Snorting, Isaac offered a sarcastic smile. "Anyone got an explanation for why we think our principal is a murderer? One that they won't ignore as a prank."

"The sword isn't at his house," Scott protested. "It's in his office; I saw it when I went in to talk to Allison's mom," he continued, faltering at the mention of the woman. It was just like Scott, Julian thought, to feel sad for the woman who had tried to kill him. Given that all he knew of the woman was that she had tried to suffocate Scott to death, Julian was less sympathetic. If you were going to try to murder an innocent sixteen year old, then you damn well better be prepared to face consequences.

"The school is public property," Isaac pointed out, breaking Julian's train of thought and bringing both him and Scott back to the situation at hand.

The fire in Scott's eyes burned even brighter, and after a moment of standing awkwardly waiting for a go ahead from the other two, Scott dug his phone out of his pocket and raised it to his ear. "Hey, Deaton, it's Scott. I need you to do something."

* * *

To say Julian's week hadn't been going all that great would have been an understatement. To say that this night had been substantially better than the rest of them was as well. And yet even with geriatric murderers, armed standoffs with homicidal kanima masters, and his uncle crawling his way out of his grave, the sight of Jackson on the morgue table oozing paralytic liquid was the second worst thing Julian had seen all week.

Judging by the horrified and morbidly curious expressions on the other's faces, that was true of them as well.

Scott's mother was actually doing a better job at keeping her composure than the rest of them, and she'd known about the supernatural for less than a week. Maybe after all the terrible things she'd had to deal with in the emergency room, this wasn't quite the worst. Although given the way she was bouncing on her feet and nervously peeking at Jackson's coated face, it was probably up there.

The venom had encased Jackson like some kind of cocoon, and the thought of Jackson transforming was not something Julian wanted to entertain. And yet he could help but think of a caterpillar, a thought train that became less and less calming the more the continued along it.

Jackson was terrifying enough lying dead on a morgue table. He didn't need wings too.

"What's happening to him?" Scott asked his mother. From the look on his face, it seemed that he was actually expecting an answer, as if people oozing paralytic liquid was something that happened all the time in a hospital. Given that Scott had spent the evening trying to keep a murderer from killing, tried to find his kidnapped best friend, and then have that same friend ignore all of his calls after the Sheriff called to confirm he wasn't dead, Julian was willing to cut the guy some slack.

"I thought that you were going to tell me!" the small, curly haired woman replied, nervously checking on Jackson once again. "Is it bad?"

"Doesn't look good," Isaac muttered, Julian nodding in agreement and shuffling another half step backwards as he caught sight of the pointed teeth in Jackson's open mouth.

"Maybe you should back up," the shorter teen suggested, drumming his clawed fingers against his leg.

"He's dead, isn't he?" Isaac said dismissively, moving slightly closer. "I mean he-"

The twitch wasn't all that big. It was a blink and you would have missed it sort of thing. And yet it caused Julian's heart to leap to his throat and Scott to jump two feet backwards in surprise.

"He moved," Isaac hissed, hastily scrambling away from the table. "He just _moved."_

"Maybe we're imagining things?" Scott suggested in a tone that made it enormously clear that he knew the truth.

"Reflexive muscle action?" Mrs. McCall offered. "It happens sometimes. Scared the crap out of me when I was still in med school."

Jackson moved again; head lifting up off the table and a _hiss_ escaping his throat before he fell back down with a _clunk._

"Shit," Julian muttered under his breath, Isaac echoing the statement as the taller teen took a large step backwards, eyes glowing gold in the ill lit morgue.

"Mom," Scott said, not taking his wide eyes off Jackson. "Could you zip it up please?"

After shooting her son an incredulous look, the woman went to protest. Taking in the faces of the teenagers in front of her, she muttered something under her breath and took a nervous half-step forward. "Okay, okay," she whispered to herself, reaching hesitantly for the zipper several times before her shaky fingers finally grasped onto the tiny piece of metal. "Here we go."

As she drew the zipper up, Jackson began to move more frequently and a breathy hiss began to escape his throat. At that moment, Beacon Hills decided to reassert its power; the zipper got stuck just under Jackson's chin.

Jackson hissed. Loudly. An animalistic noise that ricocheted off of the tile walls of the morgue.

"Mom, zip!" Scott ordered urgently.

Half-closing her eyes and keeping the rest of her body as far away from Jackson as she could, Mrs. McCall seized the zipper and yanked it up over Jackson's face. The moment the bag closed, she leapt backwards, her face obviously pale even in the morgue's dim lighting.

"We can't keep him here," she whispered breathlessly.

Hurriedly pulling his phone out of his pocket, Julian stared at the screen for a moment. Deaton was busy, the Sheriff didn't know what was going on, Stiles was ignoring their calls like some kind of spurned ex, and Peter didn't have a cell phone. He dialled Derek. A process that took longer than normal when he was working with clawed hands. Tapping his foot impatiently as the phone rung, Jackson moving more and more, Julian nearly cursed when Derek finally picked up.

 _"Jules? What's wrong? Did you guys find Stiles?"_ There was someone speaking in the background but the speakers weren't good enough to quite get the voice across. Even so, the tone was unmistakably Peter's.

"He came home a few hours ago," Julian replied distractedly, eyes fixated on the body bag which was now moving and stretching as Jackson writhed within it. "We have a problem."

Sighing, Derek was too preoccupied with whatever he was doing to hear the urgency in his younger brother's voice. _"We're looking through Harrison's stuff. Peter found some stuff in better condition, it's not looking good but if-"_

The foot of the bag lifted off the table and slammed back down with a loud _thud._

"Jackson's in a venom cocoon and he's waking up," Julian informed his brother, the worry turning to anger in his words. "Does it say anything about _that_?"

On the other end of the line, Derek swore colourfully before relaying the information to Peter. _"Does he happen to have wings?"_ Derek asked after a moment of quiet.

"He's in a body bag and I am not opening it to look," he responded sharply. At the mention of wings, Julian's brain caught up with his mouth and he swore again. "Wait, is he actually turning into that thing from the book?" he demanded. "Because he was hard enough to fight when he wasn't a fucking dragon!"

As soon as the word dragon left his mouth, Isaac and Mrs. McCall turned briefly away from Jackson to stare at Julian in alarm, while Scott's eyes went wide as he remembered the picture in the Hale journals. The winged beast with oil-slick scales and teeth like knives, dripping blood and venom.

 _"Something about a beta form,"_ Derek was saying impatiently, trying to get through the useless information to something that actually applied to their current situation. _"Look, Jules, you have to get him out of there. Now."_

"Well no shit," Julian snapped. "I don't know if we can make it to the house though," he added as the body bag gave another heave.

 _"Meet us halfway,"_ Derek ordered after several seconds, during which Jackson twitched again. And again. _"Get to the bridge."_ Then he hung up.

"My car is in the parking lot," Mrs. McCall said, digging through her purse to hand her son the keys. "I can-"

"We need you to find Lydia," Scott told her. As ever, he was pretty transparent. Sure, one of them needed to watch for Lydia and it made sense to keep a human away from the writhing body bag full of one no doubt very pissed off kanima. But it was clear that Scott was more concerned with keeping his mother safe and had simply given her the least dangerous task. "Julian," Scott continued, breaking the teen from his thoughts. "Get the door and make sure the hallways clear." Before Julian could protest, Scott stepped forwards to grab the bag, shooting a pointed look at the blackened claws on Julian's fingertips. "If you punch a hole in the bag then you're going to end up paralyzed."

Biting back an argument, Julian through the morgue door open as Isaac and Scott picked up the body.

"Scott! I- You boys be careful," Mrs. McCall ordered, reluctantly watching them leave.

"We will," Scott promised her, pausing for a moment to look his mother dead in the eye. "I promise."

That was a promise, Julian thought as the others hurried Jackson out the door, that was going to be hard to keep.

* * *

The morgue backed on a separate section of parking lot from the rest of the hospital, and there was a large door that led directly out into it for the Medical Examiner's van meaning that it was separate from the main section of the parking lot and in a darkened area away from prying eyes. There were still cars around, but luckily, most of the people who used this parking area were staff members, most of whom were still working. They had a near miss with a couple of surgeons coming off of their rotation, but other than that the coast had been remarkably clear.

Holding his hand in the air, Julian waited for the couple to disappear out of view. After the telltale sound of the doors opening came, "Move," Julian whispered, frantically beckoning the other two forwards.

Nodding hurriedly, "Go go go go," Scott ordered Isaac, hurrying along with Jackson's thankfully less-active body swinging side to side with their steps.

Julian was scanning the rows of cars for the familiar blue one that Scott drove to school when he heard a thud behind him. Exasperated, he turned to find the body bag lying in the middle of the parking lot with Isaac standing stock still like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Are you kidding me?" Julian hissed, eyes darting frantically around to see if anyone had noticed the noise.

"He keeps moving," Isaac said defensively, scrambling to pick Jackson up only to freeze completely as a car pulled into the parking lot. Unlike the others, this car didn't turn, leaving the three in blessed shadow. Instead, the car kept pulling up and came to a dead stop when it had the three fixed in its blindingly bright headlights.

Julian cursed and hastily tried to think of an excuse. _Art project? No, to stupid. Prank? Closer. Still might be mad. Think. Come on. Dare? Yes. Dared a friend to-_ The list of lies came to an abrupt halt when the door swung open and the headlights went out. After blinking the spots from his vision, Julian could make out the black SUV and the man who had stepped out of it.

At least Julian didn't have to worry about lying now.

Cocking his head to the side and placing his feet in a readied stance, Julian studied Chris Argent nervously. Nothing about the man's posture screamed aggression, and his hands were open at his sides. His scent, even clouded by wolfsbane as it was, seemed more sad than anything else. Still, Julian couldn't help but start plotting escape routes even as Scott straightened up and took a few steps forward, putting him even with Julian.

"You're alone," Scott stated warily.

Smiling bitterly, Argent made a calming motion with his hand. "More than you know," he said grimly.

Frowning at the evasive response, "What do you want?" Scott demanded.

"We don't have much in common, Scott," the man responded. "But at the moment we have a common enemy."

Scott seemed to have noticed the lack of hostility coming from Argent as well, and he seized on it to try and appeal to the man's sense of duty. "That's why I'm trying to get him out of here," the dark haired teen explained, gesturing at the body bag still lying on the tarmac behind them.

Argent sighed and shook his head. "I didn't mean Jackson," he said sadly.

Blinking in confusion, Scott's head cocked to the side while next to him Julian relaxed his fighting stance to study the man before him in a new light. Upon taking the time to actually look at the hunter, Julian noted how tired the man looked. Not just physically, but mentally. Something had drained him, and Julian had a feeling it had something to do with why he was standing in front of them now.

"Gerard has twisted his way into Allison's head the same way he did with Kate," Argent continued, fists clenching and gaze hardening. "I'm losing her," he admitted, real fear in his pale eyes. "And I know you're losing her too."

Scott's face morphed into a conflicted expression, something flickering in his dark eyes. "You're right," he said with a sense of finality. "So can you trust us to fix this?"

Argent gave a curt nod.

"Then can you let us go?"

"No," Argent replied, the words freezing the blood in Julian's veins. Then the man gave a slight nod to the vehicle behind him. "My car is faster."

* * *

With Argent driving and Jackson taking up the only remaining seat in the back, Julian had drawn the short straw and been forced into the passenger seat.

He was beginning to wish he'd gotten stuck sitting next to Jackson.

At least with Jackson he knew how to act. This was different and uncomfortable and Julian had a million things that he had imagined saying to the man but none of them would come out.

"You don't trust me," the man finally said after several minutes of driving in silence, save for the occasional hiss from Jackson. The wolfsbane Argent had injected into his system wasn't doing much, but it had bought them some time.

"Your sister burned my family alive," Julian responded icily, drawing a never ending spiral on his thigh with his index finger. "And your father wants to kill me and my brother," he added with a scowl. Gerard was welcome to Peter.

"For what little it's worth, I didn't know the truth until that night in the woods," Argent said. "What Kate did…" He broke off as Julian turned to stare at him with dull eyes. To his credit, Argent didn't flinch or back down even as his eyes found the scarred flesh of Julian's arm and side, the thick, rippled skin stretching up to disappear beneath his t-shirt. Facing the actual results and consequences of someone's actions were never easy, and Julian suspected that Argent hadn't really been truly faced with what his sister had done.

The hunter had just turned his back on his family to help a bunch of teenagers drag a body through the hospital parking lot. Chris Argent had seen what Gerard was; seen the truth hiding beneath a thin veneer of civility and niceties wrapped in a tweed jacket and a kindly smile. He'd seen the man who had cut someone in half while they hung from a tree, the man who had left fifteen people dead on the ground of a distillery floor with poisonous vapour burning at their bodies. The man who wanted everyone else in the van dead simply because of what they were.

But Gerard was still the man's father, and putting distance between yourself and a parent wasn't easy. It was hard and painful, and Julian understood that feeling all too well. And that understanding made it difficult to hate the man sitting next to him.

"I believe you," Julian said after a stretch of silence.

The man actually smiled faintly at that. "At least you're honest," he muttered more to himself than to anyone else.

The smile faded quickly though, and Julian could smell the worry in the air. It permeated the interior of the car and the wolfsbane in the air wasn't enough to cover it up. Not that it would have hidden Argent's white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel or the concern in his eyes.

The Argents, like any other hunters, had stories they told their family members about how killing a wolf was like putting down a rabid dog. A necessity in order to protect the people around them.

The Hales had stories of their own. Stories about wild animals that lashed out at those who got to close, but the stories started and ended differently. Instead of diseased, weak creatures that deserved no scrap of pity, they told of those that loved, bled and mourned just like the hunters. But of how even the kindest, gentlest animal would eventually bite if you beat it hard enough.

And that was what Gerard turned people into. People who lashed out an whatever target he pointed them at. Julian had seen it seven years ago in his father's eyes, and Chris Argent was seeing it now in his daughter's.

And now as the lights flashed by, Julian couldn't help but feel that they were driving into the mouth of that monster. That things were coming to a head.

Sides had been chosen.

Now came the battle.


	20. Chapter 20

The Beacon Hills bridge was not a pleasant place to be on a warm summer day, let alone a damp March one.

The bridge itself was an massive metal construct that led out of the town over the shallow, rapid moving river below. About ten years ago, it wasn't uncommon for people to climb down around the bridge to fish in the water below, and Julian could remember running around the areas on one of the twisting trails that slunk around the reserve and out into the neighbouring town. Over time though, the area around the bridge had become a type of warehousing district; full of short, ugly buildings with old brick and steel walls. Most of them hadn't been repaired in nearing two decades, and the bridge wasn't any different. The fishers moved downstream, and hikers tended to avoid the place after the town stopped maintaining the trail.

A thick blanket of fog had rolled in sometime in the late evening, hanging close to the ground and turning from grey to pale white in the little light that had escaped through the clouds above. It might've been pretty if it hadn't been so cold.

Julian was leaning against the hood of Chris Argent's car, impatiently picking paint from under his ragged nails as he scanned the fog covered bridge for any sign of his brother approaching. They'd been waiting for near ten minutes now, and the heat from the engine was beginning to fade away to be replaced by the cool fog twisting around his ankles.

A few feet away from Julian stood Chris Argent. While the man appeared relatively calm, his hands never strayed too far from his holster and he'd positioned himself so that he had a view of both approach angles to the bridge as well as to where Jackson lay ominously still in the backseat. Every once and a while, he'd check his watch and frown worriedly to himself.

After five minutes of shifting from foot to foot and earning irritated glares from Hale and Argent alike, Isaac had pulled his phone out, the light from the screen too bright in the dim of the rest of the area. The soft sound effects emanating from the phone suggested he was playing a game of some kind. Behind Isaac, Scott was pacing uneasily back and forth, occasionally stopping to sneak a peek at the other betas or to text Stiles and Allison yet again.

Neither of them were answering.

A glance at his badly cracked watch told Julian it had only been about ten minutes, but it felt like an eternity. _Where are you, Derek?_ he thought to himself as he stared at the empty shadows in the fog. Sighing, Julian hopped back onto the hood of the car and stretched upwards, his back letting out a series of pops loud enough to warrant Scott looking up from his phone. Julian raised a confused eyebrow only for Scott to blink and hurriedly go back to his phone, gazing blankly at the screen for several seconds before he started texting again.

Letting out a huff of amusement, Julian grinned crookedly as he turned back around, fingers tapping idly on his leg as he tried to ignore the butterflies in his stomach.

 _You've got a killer lizard in the back of the car,_ he reasoned. _Of course you're nervous._

At that thought, the butterflies seemed to morph into angry wasps, and Julian was reminded of his uncle's words about Gerard. Nothing burned through a semi-decent mood like the thought of being tortured.

Scowling, Julian refocused his thoughts onto the man he was currently waiting for.

Being back in Beacon Hills had forced a confrontation of sorts between the older brother Julian had grown up before the fire, and the one he'd lived with after. Julian hadn't ever really gotten along with Derek; they were already six years apart, and where the grumpier, more reserved Julian focused on art and later swimming lessons, Derek had been the outgoing, obnoxious jock that had gone from a gymnastics to basketball with an easy smirk that Vince had punched off his face more than once.

A faint smile touched Julian's lips as he remembered Derek barging through the door with a basketball under his arm and a permission slip for the school play tucked in his other hand. His girlfriend had talked him into signing up, and Derek had poured his heart into the role. Julian couldn't quite remember what the play was, just that it was some Shakespeare production complete with ruffled shirts and incomprehensible language.

Back then, the idea of Derek running around with a fake sword hadn't been too surprising an idea. Derek had been starring as Captain Skull-Beard (facing off against Cora the Slasher in a cardboard boat Julian had spent a week painting with his father) for several years, and he'd taken a couple of classes at the local theatre when he was in elementary school before he switched to sports.

Now though, Julian had a hard time imaging Derek in a collared shirt, much less chasing Paige through the autumn leaves with his faux-velvet cape trailing after him.

Smile falling from his face, Julian returned his attention to the foggy bridge in time to catch a flash of movement in the dark. Shoving away the thoughts of his past, he hopped off the car and watched as the shape turned into a figure running at them. The closer the shape got, the clearer it became that the person was running on all fours, because apparently walking like a normal person was something Derek had forgotten along with how to smile.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Julian watched Derek perform a _flip_ to land on his feet, his eyes fading from vibrant red back to their natural green. Julian had never seen the point in being showy. In fights it either got your ass kicked or made you look like an ass, and outside of fights, Julian couldn't see the point.

Letting out a pointed sigh accompanied by an exasperated eye roll, Julian waited until Derek had straightened up before he spoke. "Why didn't you just park closer?"

Derek shot his younger brother an annoyed look before turning back to the Argent before him. "Why are you with _him?"_ he demanded.

Chris Argent, having taken it upon himself to try and keep a civil atmosphere, stepped forwards with his hands open at his sides. "I'm here for Jackson," the hunter stated, studying Derek analytically as the Alpha sized up the man in front of him. "Not you."

"Somehow I don't find that very comforting," Derek responded sarcastically. After a moment of pregnant silence, it seemed to dawn on Derek that he was supposed to have a plan. "Get him inside," the Alpha ordered, turning swiftly on his heel and heading towards a warehouse seventy feet or so to the right.

Chris grumbled something under his breath before getting back into the car, Isaac jumping in the backseat with him.

Scott was sending one last text to Stiles, his frustrated and worried face lit up in the fluorescent light of his screen. Julian hung back with him, blowing a strand of hair out of his eyes as he surveyed the gloomy night, trying to spot the hidden asshole. While Peter was hardly part of the Hale pack, blood ran deep, and even if Julian couldn't spot him in the shifting fog, he could feel the man's presence somewhere nearby.

"Julian," Scott asked quietly as he tucked his phone in his pocket, breaking Julian's thoughts. "Does he seem a bit…" Scott trailed off uncertainly, turning to the shorter beta for an answer.

"Like he's hiding something?" Julian offered sourly, his fingers starting to tap irritably on his arm. He was missing something. Something obvious. Growling softly in frustration, Julian glared into the night, as though being angry would somehow let him spot Peter in the shadows.

 _Peter._

"Peter's here," Julian explained, snapping back to the present.

Scott raised his eyebrows, confused. "Yeah, he was supposed to bring Lydia?" he said uncertainly.

"Derek wouldn't leave her with him," Julian stated, turning to stalk after his brother with his fists clenched tight.

"So what?" Scott asked, hurrying after him with a puzzled look. After three steps, Scott's eyes went wide as he put the pieces together. "You don't think…" he began.

"Unless you have a better explanation as to why she's not here," Julian finished sharply. He wasn't angry at Scott, but the fact that Derek had conspired with Peter and not bothered to consult him stung. _Worry about your hurt feelings later,_ he scolded himself. That wasn't important now. Peter was here. Lydia wasn't. That was what mattered. Because if Lydia wasn't here, that only meant one thing.

Derek wasn't here to save Jackson. He was going to kill him.

* * *

"Where are they?" Scott demanded.

As Julian studied the body bag on the ground, he found himself noting the betrayal in Scott's tone, and how similar it was to the anger in Derek's voice that night at the Sheriff's station.

Derek for his part, looked confused. "Who?"

"Peter and Lydia," Scott answered, the growing apprehension and disbelief all too audible in his voice.

"She's not here," Julian stated again, this time the angry words were directed directly at Derek.

To his credit, Derek didn't even flinch as he sadly held his brother's gaze. Slowly, he bent down and yanked down the zipper of the body bag to reveal Jackson's slumbering form still cocooned in the venom casing.

"Hold on a second!" Scott half-shouted, stepping forwards with his arms out. "You said you knew how to save him," he said desperately.

"We're past that," Derek responded, his voice rough and his fingers curled into white-knuckled fists.

"Wh-What about-"

"We can't risk this-" Derek argued back.

"You're his Alpha, Derek," Julian said, deadly still. Packs protected each other. Jackson wasn't at fault for what he'd done, and even half-transformed in a cocoon of poison, Julian could still see _Jackson._ The self-righteous jock with the asshole-streak long enough to cross the country twice. The teenager who had a family who cared about him, an ex-girlfriend who was still in love with him, a best friend crying over his body. Jackson needed a pack. Wasn't that what they were supposed to give him? A place to belong?

Derek didn't even look up, unable to meet either Julian or Scott in the eyes. "That's why it has to be me," he said quietly as his claws pushed through his fingers.

"No," Julian interjected forcefully, loud enough that Derek actually paused. "No, it's not. You're his Alpha," he repeated, aware that he was talking too quickly and too loudly as he plowed forwards. "That's why you should have gotten Lydia. Derek," he said more quietly, imploring his brother to look up. "You don't have to do this."

"We can still get her," Scott added, half-pleading with Derek, who was halted a foot away from Jackson. "It's not too late to save him."

"Think about it, Scott!" Derek's guilt-ridden gaze finally met theirs, the coppery blood leaking from his clenched fist scenting the air along with the anger and underlying helplessness. "Gerard controls him now! He's turned Jackson into his own personal guard dog, and he set all of this in motion so that Jackson could get even bigger and more powerful."

Julian opened his mouth to argue, but Chris Argent spoke first. "No," the hunter interrupted, shaking his head vehemently. "No, he wouldn't do that," he insisted stubbornly.

Frustrated at the hunter's dismissal, Julian turned to him with fury in his eyes. "He'd slaughter an entire pack of innocent people at a diplomatic meeting, but _this_ is too far?" he snapped.

The hunter was retreating mentally now, trying to realign the facts to fit with the world he'd grown up with and still hadn't abandoned.

"What about Allison?" Julian blurted out.

For a moment, Argent just stared at him in disbelief.

It was a low blow- the verbal equivalent to kicking the hunter in the balls. Nasty and unarguably underhanded, but Julian was hoping it would be effective. This was a fight, and fighting fair and going gentle on someone didn't help.

They needed Chris on their side, and if his daughter had driven him to them in the first place, maybe she could keep him there.

But Chris was still shaking his head. Like if he did it enough the world would go back to the way he wanted it to be.

Like if he just tried hard enough, his father wouldn't be a monster anymore.

"If Jackson's a dog, he's turning rabid," Chris insisted gruffly, voice wavering even as his hand hovered ever-closer to his holstered pistol. "And my father wouldn't let a rabid dog live."

"Of course not."

Julian didn't need to turn to place the speaker. It was the twisted, calmly cruel tone that Gerard used all too often, no doubt accompanied by a cold smile that didn't quite reach his black eyes. "Anything that dangerous, that out of control" Gerard continued, gaze falling on the Hales and his sneer widening, "Is better off dead."

The moment the words left Gerard's mouth, Derek burst into motion. He brought his clawed hand back, his forward swing halted as Jackson's arm shot up to stab him in the stomach. Derek barely had time to gasp in surprise before the rapidly transforming creature tossed him like a rag doll.

The world around Julian started to swim, bleeding at the edges as he backed away, Gerard's words too loud in his ears.

 _Not here. Not now._

"Well done to the last, Scott," Gerard gloated, words grating against Julian's ears. "Like the concerned friend you are, you brought Jackson to save him."

Eyes snapping to a canary yellow as the red overtook his vision, Julian caught Gerard's last words in perfect clarity.

"You just didn't realise that you were bringing the Hales to me."

The arrow was timed perfectly. They were all so caught up in Gerard's theatrics that none of them spotted Allison step out of the shadows. By the time the telltale _thrum_ of the bow string reached Julian's ears, the arrow was already on its way.

Scott's turn to place the sound saved him, bringing him unintentionally out of the arrow's path, and it whizzed by before slamming hard into Isaac's shoulder instead.

For a moment, the world froze. Isaac's stunned expression morphed into one of pain, a crimson stain blooming out of his shirt as he staggered slowly backwards before he finally hit the ground.

Then the world went from pause to fast forwards.

Scott was shouting something but Julian didn't care; he was already moving. Grabbing Isaac's uninjured arm, Julian hauled the taller teen up and backwards. There was a pile of wooden planks a fifteen feet away. Out of sight of the windows, out of sight of the doors. Out of sight of the archer.

Another arrow whizzed by, clipping Julian's ear before slamming into a wooden plank, quivering with the force of the impact. Cursing at the stinging pain, Julian faltered and almost dropped Isaac as the blonde's weight shifted. Scott, finally lurching into action, grabbed Isaac's other side, apologising profusely for pulling on his wounded side.

The moment Isaac's feet were tucked behind the pile, Julian dropped the weight and pushed himself back several feet, the ground rushing up to meet him as he sunk down, back digging into the wooden planks. His heartbeat was painfully loud now and his veins felt like they were buzzing as the adrenaline pushed the shift closer and closer to the surface.

 _It's not even the full moon,_ he tried to tell himself, but the words were lost in the pain that was spreading through his veins and the thick black and silver hairs pushing up through his skin as his nails turned black.

Scott's gentle tap on the shoulder felt like a focused punch and Julian flinched as he whirled his head around to face the beta, the jerky motion revealing just how far he'd shifted and causing Scott's worried brown eyes to widen even further.

"Crap."

Under any other circumstance, Julian would've laughed. 'Crap' was pretty much the Scott McCall equivalent of 'Fuck', but this wasn't the time, and his jaw was starting to hurt. Too much movement would likely just dislocate it.

"Julian," Scott began hesitantly, uncertain of what to say. "Are you…" A grunt of pain from their left brought his attention back to Isaac. Jaw tightening, Scott hastily turned back to the blonde. "The arrow should be fine, but you need to leave-"

"It's fine," Isaac grunted, not really paying attention. "It's out now, see?" he said, the bloodied arrow in his hand.

Both of the other betas turned, staring at Isaac in shock at the sheer idiocy of yanking the arrow out. However, where Scott looked alarmed and concerned, Julian just rolled his eyes in exasperation, momentarily distracted. "You're a moron," he lisped through long, pointed incisors.

The gunshot split the air as well as Julian's ear drums, and he reflexively curled in on himself, clasping his hands over his ears and clamping his eyes shut as the gun kept firing.

 _Ineffectual,_ he thought blearily, the red behind his eyes pulsing bright white with each shot. The base of his skull was beginning to burn, and the ache in his bones was becoming impossible to ignore.

For a moment, the world was quiet and the pulsing stopped.

And then the kanima screeched and the world behind Julian's eyelids went from red to black. He dug his claws into his scalp, desperately trying to block out the noise that ripped through his head. Even after it stopped, Julian kept his hands over his ears, gently rocking himself until his fingers relaxed and his claws stopped cutting into his scalp.

"Julian," Scott was asking, the words gentle but still too loud. When Julian opened his eyes, Scott was a vibrant shade of red, his body outlined in a searing white light. It was like looking at the sun, except the sun was talking and worriedly crouching in front of him. "Can you still hear me?"

Julian was saved from having to attempt to form an answer by something slamming heavily into their wood pile, shifting it a good couple of inches. A body. Not dead; Julian could hear the heartbeat like a band drum being hit right next to him.

Isaac took off with eyes glowing yellow while Scott lingered, torn between the two of them even though he should've left already.

"Just go," Julian muttered, shaking his head vigorously as Scott went to argue. "Derek and Isaac need your help more than I do."

"At this point, I kinda doubt that," Scott argued.

"Scott, go," Julian growled out, gritting his teeth as he felt his joints loosening and tightening all at once. _If you stay, there's a chance I'll rip your throat out, and I don't have enough friends as it is,_ he thought. "Now," he said.

Scott said something as he left, but it was lost in the burning pain radiating out from the base of Julian's skull, spreading down his neck to his spine.

 _Can't stop it._

 _Can't wait any longer._

Grinding his sharpened teeth, Julian opened his eyes to see the second last person he wanted to.

"I was wondering if they were ever going to leave," Peter murmured, sidling out of the shadows with his hands in his pockets. Too casual. Too loud.

"Shouldn't you be fighting Gerard?" Julian hissed out, the words turning to a whimper of pain as his spine gave in and folded in on itself, sending him to the floor. He may have sworn, but at this point, it wouldn't have come out anyways; his jaw had finally given up on staying in place as it cracked and narrowed into a snout.

"This is actually a more pressing matter," Peter remarked, studying his nephew's curled, broken body impassively. "You're going to need to shift if we want to actually win this, and I'd appreciate it if you kept it under control this time. I have enough problems as it is, and I'm still not quite done healing yet."

Even half-shifted and beginning to cough up blood onto the concrete floor, Julian was capable of sending his uncle an irritated look.

Sighing, Peter continued. "Jules, staying human isn't going to work; you're not human and neither am I," he said harshly. "You want to control it? Then stop pretending that you're something you're not."

Julian tried to respond but his body seized and the world flashed a dull shade of maroon.

"You're going to kill yourself trying to stop it," Peter said, looking down at Julian with a faint frown. Grabbing him by the shoulder, Peter dug his claws into the twisted muscle and his eyes blazed a blue that cut through the red haze. " _Focus._ Not on the pain, on the _pack."_

 _The pack..._

Under Peter's words, Julian could hear the battle behind him. The _thump_ as the kanima's foot connected with Derek's stomach and the _whoosh_ as the air was driven out of his lungs. Scott's sneakers squeaking on the concrete floor as he tried to spin in time to catch the clawed hand coming at him and Isaac's cry of pain as something sliced into his skin, copper scenting the air.

 _They're going to lose._

 _You've done this before, why not now?_

The answer to that was simple: he hadn't been able to safely shift in near seven years. He'd lost control at the party, nearly shifted in the middle of a group of innocent people. The memory of the time before that was horribly clear; his twelve year old hands splitting as the claws pushed through, gripping at the carpet in the back of Laura's van as she sped out of the city, Derek's wide blue eyes watching from the front seat. When Julian had woken up, Laura had been wearing Derek's sweater in an attempt to hide the half-healed gashes on her arm.

He'd attacked family before, there wasn't anything to stop him from doing it again.

Except this wasn't like those times. This time, there was another danger. One that they were losing to.

Weakened and mostly human, Julian didn't stand a chance against a kanima, much less when he was broken and bleeding all over the floor of the warehouse.

But he wasn't human. He never had been, and he never would be.

And after six years of running, maybe he should've accepted that.

Curling what was left of his fingers into a fist, Julian rolled himself onto his front, pushing himself up as his limbs screamed in agonised protest.

Peter backed up, a smile playing on his lips as Julian relaxed his muscles and focused on the wolf hovering at the edges of his consciousness.

After the fire, he'd seen it as an invader. A remnant of his father and of the flames that had burned his family alive. But it wasn't. It was a part of him. Instead of trying to block it out, or retreating away with the rest of consciousness, Julian expanded his thoughts and embraced it, the red haze of his vision turning from crimson to a sharp, crisp maroon.

The heat spread like wildfire out from his spine, running through his veins and over his skin, lighting up as he pushed himself forwards, the change rippling across his skin like cool water, soothing the pain and driving him forwards faster and faster as his bones slotted into place and the shift completed.

Julian would have laughed if he could, his mouth falling open as the air brushed the fur on his face. It felt _good._ Like a missing piece had slotted into place. He was taller than he had been, but he supposed it made sense. For a moment, he wondered how the silver and black pattern of his fur looked now after so long. Then he reminded himself to focus, zeroing in to where a fully transformed Jackson traded blows with Scott and Derek, each one a cluster of burning white lights in a sea of warm red.

Aiming a blow at the kanima's face, Derek lashed out with all his strength only to be stopped dead by the kanima's grip. Using Derek's momentum against him, the kanima sent him stumbling and advanced with claws extended. Behind the kanima, Scott seized on its distraction and brought his foot down hard onto the creature's exposed spine. Hissing angrily, it forgot about Derek and rounded on Scott, about to lunge when Julian threw himself forwards and plowed into it at full speed.

Julian wasn't sure the kanima was capable of looking surprised, but it certainly didn't look happy when it bucked him off, sending him sliding several feet on the concrete before he managed to regain his footing. Growling, he studied the cluster of lights that made up Jackson to find that the ones near his head were dimmed. Like something was wrong.

 _Gerard,_ he realised as he launched himself forwards once more, sliding under the claws aimed at his head. He wasn't used to fighting like this, nor was he accustomed to the four legs yet. Luckily, Derek took the opportunity to step back into the fight and lash out at the creature's unprotected knee, the joint buckling.

The kanima screeched, a noise like nails on a chalkboard, while Julian regained his footing, pale yellow eyes scanning the interior of the warehouse. After several long seconds, Julian finally spotted the cluster of dull, twisted lights that pulsed around Gerard's figure. All alone. Smug and confident that Jackson would keep them occupied.

 _Pack first._

Turning back, Julian looked to the others to find Scott was grinning widely, making the world pulse all over again. Derek seemed to understand what Julian was asking and gave his brother a quick nod. _Go. We've got this._

The low growl in Julian's throat turned into something purely animalistic and he pushed himself forwards, driving past Isaac and a furious Allison into the shadows where Gerard was waiting.

Unlike the kanima, Gerard was capable of surprise, and Julian savoured the opening of Gerard's mouth and the almost comical widening of the man's eyes as he launched himself at the old hunter; 120 pounds of snarling muscle and fur with knife-like incisors bared.

Seeing the wolf aiming at his throat, Gerard did exactly what Julian had expected. The reflexive reaction of any human; the hunter raised his arm, and Julian sunk his teeth deep into the flesh as he bowled the man over into the unforgiving concrete.

Behind him, the kanima faltered and Derek growled in momentary triumph.

Twisting his head, Julian shredded the flesh, intending on opening up the wound and furthering the kanima's distraction, only to choke when the rancid blood flooded his mouth.

Gerard was old, but he wasn't stupid, and he took advantage of Julian's distraction and threw him off, sending him skittering back on the concrete as the rotten blood dripped from his teeth. Staring at the hunter in shock, the wolf froze in place as Gerard lurched upwards with a look in his eye that reminded Julian painfully of Matt that night in the Sheriff's station.

Shaking his head, Julian refocused and charged forwards, growling as he aimed again for Gerard's throat. He was a two feet away from the monster when something connected heavily with his leg and he went sprawling; body twisting as he tried to regain his footing. A shock of pain spread through his side as his leg hit the ground, something twisting deeper into the skin. _Knife,_ he realised dully, head automatically turning to spot a ghostly pale Allison staring at him with her hand still extended, Isaac crumpled and bleeding at her feet. Gaze drifting back behind him, he spotted the black knife embedded two inches into the muscle of his back leg, a thin stream of blood drizzling out, turning the dappled black and grey fur a brilliant shade of red.

Nearby, Derek grunted in pain and fell heavily to the ground. Julian turned to find his brother lying limply, hands clasped over his bleeding stomach while Allison approached, murder in her eyes as she strode forwards over Isaac's body to where Derek lay defenseless on the ground.

Julian tried to spring to his feet but the movement twisted the blade in his leg and it gave out, sending him crashing to the floor with a yelp of pain.

"Allison!" Scott cried out, lunging forwards but still too far away from the lone girl with the bloodied blade.

Julian never thought he'd be happy to see the kanima, but a sense of relief flooded through him as the reptilian creature slipped behind Allison and rose up, gripping her hand and sending the bloody dagger clattering to the ground as its other hand went to her exposed throat, her vengeful expression morphing into a terrified one.

"Not yet, sweetheart," Gerard chastised, clutching his mauled arm close to his chest with madness in his eyes, a series red droplets splattering on the ground as he moved forwards.

 _Maybe you'll get lucky and you'll hit an artery,_ Julian thought bitterly as he tried to tentatively get back onto his feet, the realisation that he'd missed his chance to stop Gerard slowly dawning on him.

"What are you doing?" Allison demanded furiously.

"He's doing what he came here to do," Scott said quietly, refusing to look anyone else but the old hunter.

"Then you know," Gerard stated, lips curling in an almost amused sneer

"What's he talking about?" Allison asked, her worry and fear breaking through the fury she'd wrapped herself in.

"It was that night outside the hospital, wasn't it," Gerard mused, studying Scott with a sort of admiration in his soulless eyes. "When I threatened your mother. I knew I saw something in your eyes. You could smell it, couldn't you?"

Pushing himself up slightly, surrounded in a pool of his own blood, "He's dying," Isaac said.

The rancid blood in Julian's mouth soured further as the pieces slotted together. The heavy scent of wolfsbane that Gerard liberally doused himself in wasn't just to bother werewolves or provide some modicum of protection, it was to cover the sick, decaying smell of his own body.

Cancer.

"I have been for awhile now," Gerard informed them. "Unfortunately, science doesn't have a cure for cancer yet. But," he said, studying Derek with anticipation, eyes glittering with a manic light, "The supernatural does."

Derek's red eyes widened and Julian felt his heart drop as he realised what Gerard had come to do.

"You monster," Chris spat, disgust in his eyes as he looked upon the man who had once been his father.

Smiling in dark amusement, Gerard responded, "Not yet."

"What are you doing?" Allison demanded helplessly, her eyes bugging out as the kanima tightened its grip around her throat, silencing her protests.

"You'd kill her too?" Chris asked, his voice cracking and his shoulders slumping in disbelief.

"When it comes to survival, I'd kill my own son," Gerard spat, the words a physical blow to his son as well as his granddaughter.

Julian felt the world darkening, Gerard's body outlined in a pulsing light. His throat was glittering in the light, exposed and flimsy, but it might as well have been Fort Knox for all the chances Julian had to get to it.

Disregarding the disgust on his family's faces, the old hunter turned to the only werewolf left standing. "Scott…" he said expectantly.

Scott hesitated, moving with limbs made of lead, his features reverting back to that of a distraught human. His dark eyes went from Gerard's triumphant smile to Allison's fearful face to where Julian lay on the ground, pale golden eyes pleading silently with him to find some way out.

Julian knew it was useless.

Scott couldn't help him just like he couldn't help Derek.

Desperately, Julian scanned the shadows until he laid his eyes on his uncle, silently praying that Peter had some kind of plan after all. But Peter simply remained lurking behind a wall, focused intently on the scene in front of him. He was going to let them die. Why wouldn't he? The Argents didn't know he was here, and Peter's loyalty was first and foremost to himself.

Guiltily, Scott seized Derek by his neck and forced him to knees, causing a cry of pain that felt like another knife blow. Julian growled, ears flattened to his skull and eyes blazing pale gold as he struggled to find some way out.

Gerard gave the injured wolf a disparaging look and Allison let out a yelp as the kanima dug his claws in enough to prick the skin, red beads of blood forming on her skin. The old hunter tutted, acting like the kindly old principal he'd been masquerading as. "We'll talk soon enough, Mr. Hale, but your brother and I have some business to take care of first."

If it hadn't been for the knife, Julian probably would have leapt at him then and there. Allison had just tried to kill his brother, had left Isaac bleeding out on the floor, and was acting like becoming a werewolf was the worst thing in the world; he wasn't overly concerned with her safety, as callous as that seemed. The part of his brain that would've told him to empathise was too focused on the lights that were pulsing around Gerard's throat, and Julian could much too easily imagine plunging his teeth in deep, ripping through the flesh with the man's body twitching weakly as his black eyes finally closed.

"Scott, don't." Derek's gruff exterior breaking bit by bit as he started to plead. "You know he'll kill me right after. He'll be an Alpha."

"That's true," Gerard agreed, eyes not leaving Scott's. "But I think he already knows that, don't you, Scott? He knows that the ultimate prize is Allison," he continued, nodding at his horrified granddaughter as he excitedly peeled off his coat. "Do this small task for me, and they can be together. You and your brother are the only pieces that don't fit, Derek. The Hales should have been taken care of years ago. And in case you haven't learned yet, a broken family like yours just can't compete with young love."

It was though he'd been stabbed in the heart, and Julian felt the word swimming around him, dread beginning to take over. The Hales had survived the fire; refusing to change their name even if it meant that the Argents chased them to the ends of the world. They'd tried so hard to rebuild and move on. And they'd returned only to end up bleeding out on the floor of some abandoned warehouse.

"Scott, don't. Don't!" Derek's voice cracked on the last word, but Scott just clenched his teeth and forced Derek's mouth open.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "But I have to." There was something there, buried at the edges of the words. Not quite an apology.

Gerard merely laughed as he lowered his uninjured arm into Derek's arm, waiting with anticipation until Derek bit down, his fangs sinking into the man's flesh.

As Gerard pulled his arm free, Scott released Derek, the Alpha falling to the ground to watch along with the rest of them in utter horror as Gerard raised his arm over his head with triumph in his eyes, laughter bubbling out of him as he studied the bite mark.

The blood began to drip out of the wound, and Julian grasped desperately onto the hope that Gerard's body would reject the bite. He was older and already sick, there was already a good chance the bite would be more than his system could handle.

Staring at the wound, wishing for it to burst into flame, Julian thought briefly that the dark liquid streaming steadily out of the wound was merely his imagination. That his eyes were playing tricks on him; turning the red to something that looked too dark on Gerard's pale skin.

But soon, the scent reached the wolf's nose, and he realised that the blood streaming from the wound was inky black.

He wasn't the only one who'd noticed; Derek was looking on in shock and disgust and Chris Argent's expression was a matching one as he watched the blood drizzle out with morbid curiosity.

Scott stepped back from the scene slowly, validation rather than surprise on his face.

 _He knew._ Julian stared at the other beta in shock, the surprise turning to vindictive glee as Gerard finally noticed the horrified expressions of his would-be victims.

"What… What is this?" he shouted furiously, staring at the blackened blood in horror, his heartrate climbing and real fear starting to scent the air. "What did you do?" he yelled, rounding on Derek and Scott.

Scott shrugged slightly, giving the others an apologetic nod. "Everyone said Gerard always had a plan," he stated simply. "I had one too."

Julian tried to laugh, the sound coming out as a sharp barking noise, that earned a lopsided and apologetic smile from Scott once the other beta realised that Julian wasn't mad at him.

 _Stop wagging your damn tail,_ Julian told himself, extremely glad that he couldn't blush when he was covered in fur. Using his front legs to push himself up into a seated position, Julian's ears perked up, drinking in the sounds of Gerard's growing panic as he watched the blood leak faster and faster out of his wound.

Shakily, Gerard dumped his pills out of their container and crushed, a puff of black dust escaping through his clenched fist. "No, no," the Argent patriarch murmured, fury in his eyes as he looked back to Scott, screaming the words as a curse, "Mountain ash!"

He choked on the last word, black blood slipping out between his lips before it streamed down his cheeks like oily tears and he fell to his knees, hacking and spluttering.

Julian had seen transformations go wrong before, but this was on a completely different level. Gerard's body wasn't just rejecting the bite; it was rejecting his own blood, tainted by the bite and being driven out by the mountain ash in his system. In wolf form, Julian couldn't really smile, but the open mouth and lolling tongue were pretty damn close.

Watching the man spasm with a sense of disbelief, Derek pushed himself up off the ground, shakily getting to his feet, his hand falling to his sides as he turned to Scott. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked softly.

"Because," Scott explained. "You might be an Alpha, but you're not mine."

Instead of the anger Julian had expected, the corners of Derek's lips twitched into a smile for a fraction of a second and he looked at the teen who'd never been his beta with respect in his eyes.

They turned back to Gerard in time to see the furious, defeated hunter rise up on his elbow with insane fire burning in the pits of his eyes. "Kill them!" Gerard shouted, black spittle flying from his lips. "Kill them all!" The words were replaced by coughing as Gerard's lungs flooded with the blackened blood and he slid to the ground, everyone else turning in horror to where the kanima stood.

Julian fully expected for Allison's throat to be shredded to pieces, but instead found that the kanima was frozen, its head cocked to the side as it waited for orders that weren't coming.

Realising that this was her only chance, Allison slammed her elbow into the creature's face and stepped out. On a human, it would've resulted in a broken nose and her attacker stumbling backwards with tears in their eyes. As it was, the kanima stumbled half a step and dropped its arm before recovering and tossing her aside.

In a moment of sheer panic, Julian tried to stand and the dagger shifted, sending waves of dizzying pain through his body. The world blurred around him, snapping in and out of colour and he could've sworn he heard Stiles somewhere in the distance. Except even when the world steadied, Julian could still here Stiles' voice, leaving him wondering exactly how much blood he'd lost.

That was when the Jeep smashed through the flimsy wall of the warehouse and careened towards the kanima, slamming into it at top speed. The kanima rolled up onto the windshield before dropping heavily to the ground an the Jeep came to a screeching halt, nearly running the lizard over. As the dust cleared, the shocked onlookers were presented with a view of Lydia and Stiles braced in the front seat.

"Did I hit him?" Stiles asked, daring to open an eye in time to see the kanima hop up onto the front of the car with its teeth bared. Stiles and Lydia screamed at the same time, scrambling out of the car, but where Stiles hurried over to where his stunned best friend was standing, Lydia didn't move. She stayed next to the Jeep, refusing to not stand her ground, fumbling momentarily with something in her hand.

"Jackson," she called hesitantly, the kanima's head whirling around to face her with its clawed hand following. "Jackson!"

"Lydia!" Stiles shouted, moving forwards only to have Scott stop him, having noticed that the kanima had abruptly stopped moving. It was frozen, transfixed on the simple metallic key Lydia was holding in her shaking hand. Studying the item quizzically, the kanima's hand slowly dropped and it peered at the key in an almost human fashion.

Because he wasn't the kanima anymore, Julian realised. Jackson's eyes were a very human blue, and as his clawed fingers delicately took the key from Lydia's shaking hands, the scales began to disappear, revealing the teenager hiding beneath them.

For a moment, no one moved, too afraid that they may break the spell that seemed to have fallen over them.

And then Lydia wrapped her arms around her boyfriend, sobbing as he hesitantly tightened his arm around her, the key clasped in his fingers.

Jackson clung to Lydia like she was his lifeline, squeezing her tight before reluctantly stepping away from her, a forced smile on his face. Spreading his arms out to his sides, Jackson's terrified eyes met Derek's and he gave the Alpha a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

 _Permission,_ Julian realised in horror, unable to do anything but watch as Derek charged forwards, a smiling Peter swinging out of the shadows to drive their claws into Jackson. The teen's body convulsed, driving the claws deeper until he fell still, hands dropping limply to his sides and his head lolling, fingers twitching at his sides.

Lydia didn't scream, but the breath she took in might as well have been one in the silence of the warehouse. Her face was chalk white, and her hand was clasped over her mouth as she watched the life drain out of her boyfriend.

Slipping his claws out, Derek let Jackson fall to the ground and stepped back. Lydia ran to catch Jackson in her arms before he fell completely.

"Do…" Jackson coughed out weakly, distant eyes trying to focus on the tearful girl holding him. "Do you still…"

"I do," Lydia assured him, choking up on the words as she brushed her fingers against his cheek. "I do still love you. I do," she repeated, over and over as Jackson went limp in her arms, the key falling to the ground with a quiet clink.

Julian looked up at his brother, at the utter defeat and shame in his eyes, intending on saying something only to find that the words wouldn't come. Not even after the shift rippled across his skin; bones slipping back into place and his fur disappearing back into his skin.

There was something fragile in Derek as he took off his shirt and gently pressed the fabric into his brother's arms with a pained smile. Robotically, Julian pulled the worn green shirt over his head, still searching for something to say.

"It had to be done," Derek said softly, grief mingling with the blood in the air.

Julian didn't quite know what to say to that. He tried to stand but the burning pain in his leg brought him down, and warm blood started to flow anew down his skin.

Brow furrowing, Derek's eyes landed on the blade protruding from Julian's thigh. "Jules," he began, but Julian shook his head.

"I'll be fine," he said softly, flinching as Lydia's quiet sobs continued. "Not everyone will be."

Frowning, Derek said nothing, watching wordlessly as Lydia laid Jackson's head tenderly down onto the floor. Like she was laying him to sleep. Picking the key up off of the ground, she set it in Jackson's hand and closed his fingers around it.

Slowly, on legs made of glass, she straightened up and turned to face the group, her tearstained face held high even as her body shook.

Derek ducked his head, and he took a deep breath, trying to reassure himself he'd done the right thing. Julian hesitantly put a hand on his brother's shoulder, using the gesture to try and get across the feelings that his words couldn't.

Then came the noise. A quiet scraping sound from where Jackson lay.

Lydia turned around hesitantly, hope in her every movement.

Julian's eyes went wide as Jackson rose, Derek tensing and going to stand as horror flooded through them both. Then the younger Hale caught the scent in the air and he squeezed his brother's arm, stopping him. Head tilted to the side, Julian took another tentative sniff, a broad smile breaking across his face as he caught the scent once more. "No need," he said, just as Jackson, face covered in fur and eyes blazing a blue not unlike Derek's own, let out a howl that shook the room.

Relief flooded through Derek, and Julian caught his brother's tiny smile, while Jackson slumped, utterly spent, Lydia rushing forwards to gather him in her arms with a massive smile on her face.

"Did the books say anything about that?" Derek asked after a moment.

Julian shrugged. "I don't think Harrison tried kissing the kanima," he joked weakly.

Derek snorted, rolling his eyes before gently looping his arm around his brother and helping him to his feet. "Are you ever careful?" he muttered gruffly, pointedly gesturing at the bloody trail leaking down Julian's leg.

Swaying slightly as Derek tried to steady him, "I controlled it though," Julian murmured mostly to himself, a sense of pride flooding through him.

Derek went to reply but stopped as Stiles and Scott approached. The former of the two looked as tired as the rest of them, dark circles making his face look gaunt, and drawing attention to the scrapes and bruises on his jaw and cheekbone.

"What happened to face?" Derek asked just before Julian went to.

"I, uh- I got in a fight," Stiles said, distractedly swiping at his face before sticking his hands nonchalantly into his pockets. "I guess I've got battle scars now, huh?" he quipped, eyes flickering over to where Lydia and Jackson stood with clear discomfort.

Scott smiled good-naturedly, nodding in agreement and nudging his friend gently on the shoulder. "You're a fighter," he said sincerely, hesitating before he turned back to Derek with an apologetic expression. "We kinda need a ride," he admitted, gesturing at the smoke coming from the hood of Stiles' Jeep.

"We're stopping at Deaton's," Derek said shortly. "You're on your own from there."

Scott frowned in confusion, then seemed to notice how pale Julian was, and his eyes trailed down, past the overlarge shirt before they landed on the knife. Hoping that the blood loss would keep him from blushing, Julian was for the first time in his life grateful that his brother was easily a foot and a half taller than him.

"My mom will know what to do," Scott offered. "And she's closer." Sensing Derek's hesitation, Scott pulled out his phone. "I can ask him to meet us there?"

"The sooner we get there, the less I bleed on your seats," Julian added.

Rolling his eyes, Derek acquiesced and turned to Lydia and Jackson. "Come on," he called over not unsympathetically, nodding for them to follow. "You guys should get checked out too."

Hand in hand, the two followed the rest of the werewolves out into the cool night.

After about thirty seconds, Jackson cleared his throat, looked at the man who tried to kill him, and raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "You couldn't have parked any closer?"


	21. Chapter 21

By now, lying to Stiles' father was something of a regular occurrence for Stiles as well as most of his friends, and Melissa McCall joined in with little difficulty. After opening her door to find four werewolves- two of whom had been murder suspects and all four of whom with injuries of varying severity, the woman had reacted with commendable professionalism and had snapped into action. While Scott grabbed the first aid kit and Stiles cleared the kitchen table, she called the Sheriff telling him about a celebratory sleepover at her house.

Even if Melissa wasn't the greatest impromptu liar in the world, it wasn't as though Sheriff Stilinski needed much convincing. The man was in the middle of trying to explain to the Whittmores why their supposedly dead son was not in fact in the morgue but in the emergency room wearing nothing but a grey cotton shirt, his girlfriend in tow. Julian did not envy him.

After a fifteen minute long argument and a phone call to Deaton, Derek had dropped Jackson and Lydia off at the hospital and gunned it. None of them wanted to be hanging around when people started asking questions.

From the intermittent texts Lydia was sending Scott, it seemed things were going alright, and that everyone seemed more concerned about how the hospital had mistaken Jackson for dead in the first place than they were in questioning a half-naked teenager. When the questions finally did come up, Julian suspected Jackson could probably get away with saying something vague about memory loss or shock. Not as though anyone could blame him, and with the police short-handed and desperate to replace their numbers, it wasn't as though they'd be looking too deeply into the situation. Besides, it seemed someone had made a call about Gerard Argent and the sword hanging in his office. A sword that bore striking similarities to one that had been used to chop a homeless man in half. No doubt the remaining hunters in town would be making themselves scarce.

 _Good fucking riddance,_ Julian thought bitterly, wincing as Melissa prodded at his leg.

As for the hospital... Well, if Jackson was anything like his parents, then Beacon Hills Memorial probably had a lawsuit in its future.

Melissa McCall clearly had similar suspicions, ignoring the call on her home phone with a simple, "The paramedics were the ones who pronounced him dead," before she carefully put on a pair of bright blue gloves. For someone who'd been dealing with the supernatural for about a week, she was remarkably cool headed. Nurses had to be, and Julian suspected that she was probably compartmentalizing.

In addition to her steady nerves, Melissa was also incredibly good at stitching up wounds quickly and with minimum pain. Not that Julian had really been able to feel anything. His entire body felt buzzed, and even after the endorphins faded to exhaustion, the pain from being poked with a thin needle was nothing compared to being stabbed with Allison's wolfsbane-coated knife. Or her grandfather's massive broadsword. Too tired to feel any revulsion at the thread being pulled through his skin, Julian simply watched with dulled eyes until the woman finished and readied herself for the next patient.

Julian had gotten patched up first both because he was the worst healer out of the four of them as well as the fact that he had a knife sticking out of his leg. That had lent the injury a sense of urgency, he thought numbly as he pulled the clothes out of the backpack in front of him.

It turned out Laura wasn't the only one incapable of letting things go. Derek had pressed the bag into Julian's hands and guided him to the bathroom. He was waiting outside; Julian could hear his brother's breathing just outside the door and smell the pain in the air when Derek moved his dislocated arm.

Gingerly, Julian tugged on the pants. They were an old pair he'd used for painting, and he was grateful that they were a little to large and thus didn't rub on his newly bandaged thigh. After pulling on the shirt, a worn cotton thing that he'd thought he'd lost, with _Def Leppard_ written across it, Julian risked a glance in the mirror and watched his reflection stare him down with a humourless, bloody smile.

He looked like a vampire.

A possibly high vampire.

The dark circles under his eyes combined with some mild blood loss and the inky black of his hair made him look much paler than he actually was, and Gerard's blood was still crusted against his chin and throat, cracking and flaking when he moved his head. His reflection winced, and Julian turned on the tap, scrubbing harshly at the stain until he was certain he'd gotten all of traces of the blood off.

Leaning heavily against the sink, Julian took a few deep breaths and forced his muscles to relax one by one.

 _It's over,_ he told himself over and over again, trying to get the words to sink in. _It's over,_ he repeated as he watched the last of Gerard's blood swirl away down the drain.

Jackson was the kanima no more, and even with the long road ahead of him, he wasn't the threat he had been.

Gerard wouldn't last long. He was a wily old bastard, certainly, but he was also sick, spewing black blood, and being tracked by both his son and soon the police. Gerard had used that damn sword to kill more people than Julian wanted to know, and it wouldn't be long before the police started to put the pieces together and realised that where the old man showed up, so did bodies. Lots of them.

Splashing a last bit of water over his face in an effort to calm himself, Julian looked back up, blinking water droplets out of his eyes and listening to the quiet thud of his heartbeat. Then, tentatively, he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the world was red and his eyes were made up of a cluster of burning lights, staring back at him like some kind of demon. Even without a true sense of colour, some part of his brain seemed to be telling him that the warm golden glow had been replaced by the unsettling pale yellow of his childhood.

Shifting was like drinking a cup of coffee; a jolt of adrenaline that got his heart rate up further and made his muscles tense all over again, the exhaustion abandoning him for a brief moment.

Reluctantly, Julian closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Blinking them open, he was greeted by the familiar murky colour of his eyes, though they looked greener than normal thanks to how bloodshot they were. The adrenaline was still there, hovering at the edges like the hum of static electricity, and part of him wanted to embrace that rush again. Fully. Dive deep into the pit and not come up for a long time.

The sensible part of him told him not to be an idiot and that not only was Scott's bathroom to small, but that he was going to rip his stitches and his new clothes. He wanted to remind himself that he had a lot to work on, and that what had happened at the warehouse may have been a fluke. That it might not happen again. Still though, he couldn't quite stop the thin, half mad smile that broke out across his face, unable to entirely contain he bubbling sense of accomplishment.

Swallowing down a laugh, Julian bit the inside of his cheek until his body stopped trembling and his heart rate slowed. Only then did he open the door and offer the bag and bloodied shirt back to Derek.

If Derek had noticed anything odd about Julian's scent or heart rate, he didn't show it. His older brother just shoved the shirt in the bag, awkwardly shuffling his grip around until he managed to swing it over his uninjured shoulder so he could offer Julian his good arm. For once Julian didn't bother protesting, and allowed his brother to take some of his weight as they wordlessly made their way back into the kitchen where Melissa had set up her makeshift nurse's station.

After helping Julian back into a chair, Derek returned to leaning heavily against the wall with his body curved to take the weight off of his injured shoulder. His green eyes surveyed the scene before him with a mix of apprehension at everyone's wounds, pain due to his own, and relief as it dawned on him as well that this was a moment of quiet. Not the calm before the storm that the other dips in action had been, but true calm. A chance to rest and recuperate without threat of being ripped to pieces. A chance to finally catch their breath.

Letting out a sigh, Julian leaned forwards and rested his forearms on his legs, careful to avoid the knife wound, and watched as Melissa continued her work. Having finished patching up Julian, she had moved onto Isaac. The latter of whom was sitting at the kitchen table trying and failing to keep a stoic expression as the nurse carefully cleaned the wounds in his chest. Allison had really done a number on him; there were multiple slash marks mirrored alarmingly neatly on both sides of his body and two shorter but wider wounds where she'd driven the daggers in deep, black blood slowly leaking out of them.

Julian had worked at a summer camp the year before, working both as a counsellor in training and as the lone nurse's unofficial assistant. The campers were more accident prone than he himself was, and he along with his co-workers soon found themselves acting as Nurse Miller's second pair of hands. Julian didn't mind it the same way Cal and the others did. Blood hadn't ever grossed him out like it did Stiles, and, if anything, it was simply interesting to watch the woman work. They'd covered some of the stuff in first aid training, but it was different to see it in practice, and there was a sense of accomplishment that came with the job that pretending to patch up your terrible actor of a partner didn't. That usually came with boredom, annoyance, and Alex getting offended about Julian's opinion of his acting prowess.

 _Should Skype him tomorrow,_ Julian thought distractedly. _Let him know that I didn't get murdered._

Isaac's hiss of pain cut through the quiet of the kitchen and Julian's thoughts and the dark haired teen realised that he'd unconsciously flinched at the sound, the movement pulling at his leg. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Derek stiffen and straighten up while Melissa offered a quiet apology to her patient. Grabbing a strip of medical tape, she glanced over to Derek uncertainly. "And this is normal?" she asked for the second time that night.

"It means his body is fighting the wolfsbane," Derek responded, echoing Deaton's earlier words. To someone who didn't know him, Derek was coming off as unnecessarily gruff and standoffish, and the lack of overt concern was probably doing little for Melissa's opinion of him. To be fair, the nurse's experience with the Hales was mostly limited to Derek being accused of being a serial killer that had attacked her son, and Peter threatening to kill her because he had attacked her son. While Julian didn't think the woman disliked him, she didn't know him, and the fact that he'd entered her house covered in blood from biting someone probably hadn't been a great second impression.

"But this is more than just a little…" She trailed off, not wanting to worry her patient. For whatever reason, an accused murderer telling her such wasn't entirely satisfactory, and given the spiderweb of raised black veins on Isaac's torso, Julian couldn't exactly blame her for being concerned.

"Mom, remember the bullet?" Scott prompted gently. His mother flinched and levelled him a look that told her son that yes, she did remember him getting shot while being held hostage by a maniac in control of an unstoppable killer lizard. "I healed," Scott continued seriously, meeting her gaze easily and openly. "So will Isaac." He gave the blonde a reassuring smile.

"You say that like I should be relieved," Melissa commented quietly, taking a deep breath to calm herself before continuing her work with her brows creasing her face.

"I'll be fine," Isaac repeated, though the pain and tightness in his voice told another story.

"I'll be the judge of that," the nurse told him, prodding at the skin around the wound with worried fingers. Whereas Julian's leg simply had a few darkened veins, Isaac's chest was a mess of them, most of the wolfsbane having entered his system in the first few slashes. It made his skin look so pale it seemed grey, almost zombified, and the thin sheen of sweat wasn't helping matters. If Julian hadn't known better, he'd have thought Isaac was running a fever. A high one at that.

Still, Isaac tried to shrug off the others' concerns. "I've been worse," he protested, breaking off mid-sentence with a hiss of pain as Melissa hit a sensitive spot.

Melissa paused for a moment when Isaac's words sunk in, her face crinkling up with worried confusion and motherly concern, while a few feet away Derek slumped with something unspeakably sad in his eyes. Stiles, seated next to Scott attempting to avoid looking at the blood and failing, didn't seem to register the words, while Scott's eyes widened and he faltered, nearly dropping the bandage he was getting ready.

Julian just sat, unsure of what the appropriate response was. His general response to a threat was to either run or punch it, and if neither of those worked, to find out as much as he could until a viable option presented itself. Usually a modified version of the first two. This was one of those cases where he was trying to think of a third option and failing.

Drawing both of his hands into fists, Derek took a deep breath and straightened up. When he did, there was a sense of purpose in his tired voice. "I haven't had time to get any new furniture for the apartment but we can move the mattresses in from the depot until we get it in," he offered. There was a question in the words. Derek was asking for a second chance. A chance to be the Alpha he'd promised when he'd bitten three lonely teenagers with nowhere to go.

Except it was over a month later, and after being arrested, turning into an uncontrollable monster once a month, almost being bisected by the principal, and being attacked by a lizard monster, no one was going to blame Isaac for wanting out. Or at the very least, not wanting to be within fifty feet of any Hales or Argents alike.

Isaac hadn't run before the game though, and Julian got the sense that he was going to be running after it.

A pained smile quirked at Isaac's lips. "So what, we're going to Ikea this weekend?"

Unable to entirely hide the relief that flashed over his face or the grateful look in his eyes, Derek shifted and pushed himself up off of the wall to stretch up to his full height. "Sure," he said gruffly, going to cross his arms over his chest only to get a painful reminder that one of his shoulders was not in its socket.

"The loft is nice," Julian said after a moment of quiet, the words directed at Isaac and Melissa. "The building's family owned, and the guy taking care of the place knows what he's doing. You might want to paint the bedrooms though," he added, reminded of the ghastly shade of pink his aunt had covered the walls in.

Derek nodded in agreement, his lip curled in disgust at the memory. "Should do that first."

"Wait, so you're moving into an empty apartment, and priority numero uno is painting?" Stiles asked. He was already pale, and had grown even paler after catching sight of the injuries before him, making the stale bruises and cuts on his skin look darker.

Julian and Derek exchanged a quick glance. "Yes," they said in unison.

Cocking his head to the side, "Better than the wallpaper in the dining room," Julian commented wryly.

Derek shut his eyes and shook his head, a smile stirring beneath his stern demeanour. "That's a low bar, Jules," he murmured.

Julian actually grinned at that, a short laugh escaping his lips while Isaac simply raised an eyebrow, a bit of apprehension fading away from his scent.

Slowly, Julian became conscious of Melissa studying the two of them, eyes darting back and forth as she tried to size them up. A faint frown crossed her face, and she seemed to have made some kind of a decision. "Do you have somewhere to sleep until you get this furniture?" There was some hidden intention behind the words, but Julian was too tired to pick it out.

"We've got mattresses we can use until then," Derek assured her. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he did a mental calculation. "Might as well stay at the depot tonight though. Move everything tomorrow."

Melissa stood slowly, placing her hands flat on the table in front of her before she spoke. "No, you're not. I've got two teenage boys with knife wounds, another who was beaten by his _principal,_ and my son..." She trailed off briefly, going on after a moment's pause with fire in her eyes. "I want to keep an eye on them, observe any changes, and none of them are in any state to be running around across town in the middle of town. You've all been through enough as it is."

It felt odd to hear someone say that. Sure, it was true, but it was still odd. Julian had grown up with the supernatural. It was normal for him. And after the fire, running from hunters was just as normal. Looking over his shoulder was a reflex, as was shoving away anyone who tried to get too close. And now he was sitting around a table with a brother he had barely spoken to in six years, two people he actually considered friends and one who could eventually get there, and a woman who, even after learning that monsters were real, was patching them up and acting genuinely concerned.

Even after lizard monsters, somehow Scott's mother was the one who was the most surprising.

It occurred to Julian that probably wasn't a positive reflection on his upbringing in Beacon Hills.

"Tonight, you're resting and you're healing," Melissa stated in a tone that left no room for argument. "Scott, go grab the extra blankets from upstairs, Stiles you set up the DVD player," she ordered. "And grab Isaac a clean shirt while you're at it. As for you," she said, turning to Derek. "You can take a seat and let me pop your shoulder back in or you can go off to your depot. Your choice."

Derek knew better than to argue with that tone. So did Julian. On the surface, Melissa McCall didn't have much in common with Talia Hale, but they both had the 'parenting voice' down pat. Julian frowned to himself for a brief moment, trying to recall his mother's voice, searching for her words but coming up blank, and he couldn't quite blame it on the fog of exhaustion creeping in.

He was still searching blearily when Derek gently tapped his shoulder, not saying a word. Simply offering his uninjured arm out.

Julian stood hesitantly, wincing as he put the weight on his leg and pain flared through it. Shifting back to human form with the knife embedded in his leg had been a bad idea. Not that it had been an idea so much as an event. Either way, all he'd done was twist the blade and shred the muscle. It was going to be a while before he'd be able to walk properly, and the prospect of being trapped was beginning to hit him.

" _Fucking_ Argents and their _stupid fucking_ wolfsbane." Any real bite in the words was lacking, replaced by exhaustion. Julian mumbled a few more curses, gripping onto Derek's arm and trying to experiment with how much weight his leg would take before it buckled.

Not much, he found out quickly, another bout of cursing accompanying the discovery.

"You could try resting for at least an hour," Derek said tiredly as his younger brother regained his balance, digging his thankfully short nails into the man's arm.

"Or you could…" Unable to find an insult, Julian simply huffed and fell silent, allowing Derek to guide him down the hallway into the front room where Stiles was already waiting next to a growing pile of DVD cases.

"Should've brought _Revenge of the Sith,"_ Stiles was murmuring, not having heard Julian enter. "Have to watch it if you can't leave."

A frown creased Julian's face as he eased himself against the wall, leaning back to take the weight off his leg and waving Derek off towards the kitchen to get patched up. Upon ensuring Derek was going, Julian turned his attention back to Stiles.

"Has Scott not seen _Star Wars?"_ he asked, honestly surprised. Scott wasn't exactly a sci-fi aficionado. He was, however, best friends with Stiles, and it seemed odd that the latter hadn't played it for him.

"Nope. Every time I try and set it up, something happens. Last time the power went out, time before that he had an asthma attack and had to go to the hospital. I think he's cursed." Catching the sarcastic look on Julian's face, Stiles narrowed his eyes and began gesturing pointedly with a copy of _The Italian Job._ "Hey, after Jackson turned into a poisonous lizard and Gerard turned into a fountain, that is not exactly unreasonable."

"Guess not," Julian agreed, screwing his eyes shut as his blood rushed to his head. It passed quickly, but it was enough to remind him that he'd been through a lot in the past twelve hours. The past month. He needed to sleep, and at this point he doubted even his insomnia would be able to keep him up much later. Fighting a yawn in addition to an oncoming headache, Julian completely missed whatever Stiles was arguing with Isaac about, the words blurry and distant in his head.

Deaton was out at the clinic and would be for hours. While Julian didn't want to spend the night on Scott's couch, if he could grab at least a couple hours or even twenty minutes of sleep... Deaton would be back then, and Julian could collapse into his bed and sleep for the next week.

He didn't notice he'd been swaying, half-asleep on his feet, until Scott suddenly appeared in front of him with a faded blue blanket and a pillow. "You look like you're gonna pass out," the taller teen commented, reaching a hand out to steady Julian but knowing the shorter beta well enough to know better than to actually grab him.

Lacking the energy to argue, Julian took the proffered pillow and limped over to the couch, pain burning with every step until he finally reached his destination. He had just enough willpower left to stop himself from just sinking down, and managed to take time to arrange himself before he sat down so he didn't injure his leg further. Some cautious adjustments later and he'd settled down when Scott slid into the seat next to him.

The couch was meant for two people. There were two cushions after all. But in an effort to take his weight off his leg, Julian was spread out somewhat, putting him closer to Scott than he'd have usually intended. They weren't crammed in by any means, but Julian liked his personal space, and to use a term Cal was overly fond of, Scott was definitely in his 'bubble space'.

The wave of annoyance and displeasure Julian was expecting didn't come.

Instead, a sense of mild embarrassment came, and he sincerely hoped that Scott was too preoccupied with picking the movie to pick up the scent of Julian's initial discomfort.

"What about _The Princess Bride_?" Stiles asked loudly, breaking Julian's train of thought.

Scott said something, but Julian missed it, though from context it seemed it was a negative

"Inconceivable!" There was real pride in Stiles' bruised eye, and Julian found himself reminded of his cousin. The joke was something that Vince would've pulled, albeit Vince would've done it while standing on the table and waving around a pair of barbecue tongs in place of a sword.

Scott got to the real point that time. "I don't really want to watch a romance right now."

For a moment, Julian's tired brain didn't really comprehend the words. They only really sunk in when Stiles started talking.

"Hey, look I know things with Allison have been… complicated, but that doesn't mean…" Stiles trailed off, as aware as everyone else that he was just offering a meaningless platitude to try and make Scott feel better.

"No, it does. I- I think that..." Scott hesitated then abruptly cleared his throat and jabbed a finger at the cabinet. "What about _Indiana Jones_?"

Stiles couldn't smell Scott's regret or distress, but he could pick up on the clear subject change. "That has a romance in it," he reminded his friend apologetically.

There was a pregnant silence that Isaac finally broke, kneeling down to pick up a movie Stiles had put in the discard pile. "What about _Scream?_ "

"That's got romance in it too."

"Yeah, but it's also got people getting stabbed," Isaac argued, looking to Scott and Julian for support.

Too tired to care, Julian gave an unenthusiastic nod. He did actually like the movie; Cal had screened it at her Halloween gathering a year ago, and it turned out she was entirely right about it being a decent horror movie without being unnecessarily graphic. Alex had initially been joking about the film being an excuse to cuddle, going so far to pull the lamest arm-around-shoulder move he could, but had ended up hiding behind his hands in an incredibly dignified manner about five minutes in.

"You know what," Scott said, sitting up straighter and giving Isaac a nod of approval. "Let's watch it. Haven't seen it in a while. Besides," he joked weakly, "It's not like it's a particularly romantic movie."

Realising that he wasn't going to win this fight, Stiles shoved the DVD into the VCR with a petulant expression. "Fine, but if anyone has nightmares, that's on them."

"I'd rather go up against Ghost Face than Gerard," Isaac stated, lazily taking a seat on the floor with his back against the couch Julian and Scott were seated on. "Clumsier."

"Wouldn't mind watching Gerard get killed by a garage door," Julian mused, initially not realising that he'd spoken aloud until he noticed Scott's vaguely exasperated yet still amused expression.

"Nah," Isaac argued, leaning back against the couch and stretching out his legs underneath the coffee table in front of him. "Rather see him hung from the football goal post."

Julian cocked his head to the side and considered it. "Guess he _was_ the principal."

Scott stared at them both. "You guys are taking this really personally."

"He just tried to kill my brother," Julian stated flatly, unwilling to add the 'And use me as bait to bring my serial killer of a father in town', deciding to simply end with, "And I could use some good dreams tonight."

Giving up, Scott returned his gaze to the television while Stiles, having finished fiddling with Scott's temperamental DVD player, flopped lazily into an armchair.

The movie started up and before long Drew Barrymore was being violently murdered by a man in a ghost face mask.

The first time Julian had watched the movie, he'd been unnerved, somewhat surprised, and in pain from Alex digging his fingernails into his arm. Now though, everything was sort of foggy, and her screams sounded far away. Like they were coming from underwater.

Within five minutes, Julian was fast asleep.


	22. Chapter 22

**Author's Note: Just wanted to say a really quick thank you to everyone for your continued support (Passed 100 followers!). It means so much to me. On a quick side note, I think I'm going to be sticking with the once every two weeks uploading schedule. I'm extremely busy, and I don't have as much time to write.**

 **Thanks again.**

* * *

The teddy bear in Julian's hands had been pink at one point and last he'd seen it, the toy had three legs instead of just two. Running a finger against the matted clumps of fur, he went to place the mouldy toy on the mantelpiece before he hesitating and carefully tucking it into the box under his arm. Lying to himself that the burning behind his eyes and in his mouth was from the heavy dust in the air, he cleared his throat loudly and took a step back to scan the burnt remains of the living room with as analytical an attitude as he could manage.

Even in the Sunday afternoon light, the house looked grey and dead. Not that the afternoon light was helping at all. The sky had been overcast for most of the week and without any working electricity he was forced to rely on the meager rays of light that managed filter through the filthy, broken and occasionally boarded up windows.

Above him, Julian could hear Derek's footsteps on the rotting wood. The man's weight kept shaking free the occasional piece of water damaged plaster from the ceiling onto the floor below. Seeing as the last piece had hit Jackson, Julian was mostly fine with it.

Though the two brothers had been forced to recognise that they needed extra hands to pack up the place in decent time, Derek had made sure that Isaac and Jackson were searching the main floor. When Isaac had offered to help Derek with packing upstairs, he had frozen completely before making up some lie about how the office would need more than one person to get everything ready. Isaac and Jackson may have been pack, at least for Derek, but they weren't family. The idea of letting them into the bedrooms felt _wrong_ on so many counts.

Julian himself hadn't been able to go up the stairs. Instead, he lingered near the front of the house gathering old photo albums and picking up food wrappers Derek had left when he'd been squatting a few months earlier. Most were gathered near the couch where it seemed Derek had been sleeping. Apparently Julian hadn't been the only one avoiding the bedrooms.

As for the basement... Derek had muttered something about there being nothing down there that would've survived the fire.

Julian didn't want to go down to check.

A loud groaning protest from the wooden floor down the hall alerted Julian to the fact that Isaac had finished up in the office and was heading back out to the car. Even though Isaac had some stealth training from Derek, it had always been impossible to sneak around the old house without the creaking floorboards. Julian and Cora had spent weeks one summer plotting a course through the house, and while Julian was fairly sure he could remember the steps, he doubted they'd still work given the numerous holes and the damage the weather had done. Isaac hadn't really stood a chance.

"Jackson's almost finished in the back," Isaac informed Julian. The blonde had healed remarkably quickly for someone with as much wolfsbane in his system as he'd had, and judging by the effortless way Isaac was carrying the large, book-filled boxes under his arms, he'd recovered his strength as well.

"Just put it near the front," Julian replied, waving to where Derek's car was parked. "Make sure there's still room to sit though. And I put your chemistry notes on the dashboard."

"Great." The sarcasm in Isaac's tone was impossible to miss.

"You're the one who missed class."

"Because I got stabbed twenty times with poisoned knives," Isaac reminded him. "Not that I can tell Harris that."

Julian shrugged and Isaac walked off, grumbling under his breath about their chemistry teacher's teaching ability and general personality. Julian didn't hear anything inaccurate.

After Isaac exited the room, Julian allowed the moment of levity to slip away and went back to do one last search of the room. Almost unwillingly, his gaze landed on the toppled picture frame lying on the piano that he had been so purposely avoiding.

He couldn't leave it. He knew exactly which photo it was (the bright pink popsicle stick frame was a dead giveaway), and Derek would kill him if he left it there.

 _It's a fucking piano. Get over it,_ he told himself before he quickly crossed the room and grabbed the photo before retreating from the piano like it had fangs instead of keys.

Once there was ten feet between him and the piano, Julian relaxed his death grip on the picture, and after a quick glance over his shoulder at the piano lurking in the corner, he turned his attention back to Cora's toothless grin. The glasses she were wearing had extremely thick lenses that distorted her eyes somewhat. Julian had worn the same pair when he'd gotten his own picture taken the year after. The lenses were meant to prevent their eyes from reflecting the camera flash like it had for Derek and Laura. If the teachers ever thought it was odd that the Hale children all wore the same pair of glasses on picture day and no other day, they never brought it up.

The tangerine of Cora's dress clashed terribly with the swirling blue background and the hot pink of the frame, though no one had the heart or the guts to tell her as much. No one but Peter, who had received a fist to the face for his troubles.

"Are you finished in here?"

Julian whirled around, fighting the reflex to roundhouse kick Jackson in the face. " _Fucking_..." Gritting his teeth to silence the slew of curses on the tip of his tongue, Julian shot the taller beta a glare. "Don't do that."

"Wow, it's almost as if I thought you had super hearing," Jackson responded blithely.

Julian narrowed his eyes. He hadn't spent much time with Jackson over the past week, having been preoccupied with a massive art project and trying to figure out how to use crutches on stairs. However, if the past couple of hours were anything to go by Julian was bound to spend the summer wanting to punch the casual indifference off of Jackson's smug face.

 _He was mind controlled by Gerard for two months,_ Julian forcibly reminded himself, deciding to focus on stalking out to the car and not on the teen following behind him or the slew of curses Julian was still tempted to fire his way.

Striding out into the damp afternoon, he let out a slow breath and stood in the light drizzle, allowing the fresh, dust free air to help wash away some of the stress and aggravation. After thirty seconds or so, his muscles began to relax and the need to kick Jackson began to fall away.

"You alright?" Derek asked him as he made his way out of the house with a completely stuffed box in his arms. Julian opened his eyes and gave him a tired nod, his gaze going to where Jackson stood, unceremoniously shoving the box into the backseat of Derek's car. Julian felt his lip curling and his bad mood beginning to rear its head again.

Having noticed the eyes on him, "Do you know how much more stuff we have to pack before we can leave?" Jackson demanded.

"You in a hurry?" Julian asked, the annoyance sliding back into his tone and the droplets of water on his skin turning from pleasantly cool to itchy and weirdly warm.

"Danny's throwing a party to celebrate our victory," Jackson explained flippantly, adding in a heavy handed implication about what he thought about anyone who wasn't invited. "Biggest one of the year, as always, and I don't want to miss it because I was _here."_

"As opposed to murdering people as a giant lizard?" Julian retorted sourly.

Jackson didn't flinch, but there was a gratifying slip in his perfect composure. Immediately, Jackson adopted his usual casual arrogance and sneered. "Some of us can maintain a social life," he replied, giving Julian a disparaging once over before he swiftly turned on his heel and strode back into the house, his expression carefully snide.

Derek was radiating disapproval, but to Julian's surprise it wasn't towards Jackson. "That was unnecessary," Derek told him seriously.

"Neither was him being a dick but that hasn't-"

"Julian," Derek interrupted harshly.

Chagrined, "I know he's going through a lot but he's just a giant _dick,"_ he said in exasperation.

"Maybe because he was mind controlled for two months by Gerard Argent?" Derek suggested pointedly. "I know he's hard to deal with, but you two need to stop your little pissing match."

"If someone punches me, I'm going to do the same back," Julian argued. At that, Derek's frown deepened and went from annoyed to genuinely pissed.

" _You_ aren't brand new to this," Derek said roughly, Julian blinking in surprise at the ferocity in the tone. "You didn't just find out that you're responsible for murdering people who didn't deserve it. That the people talking about the psychopath who carved up the town with a knife was _you._ And you don't have to live with that either." Derek paused in his lecture, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath before he continued in a gentler tone. "He's scared and he's volatile. And I need him to trust us if we're going to keep him from reverting. We still don't know if there's a chance of him turning back, and even if he doesn't he still needs to learn control. That's not going to happen if you spend the entire time arguing with each other.

Swallowing his pride, "Fine," Julian acquiesced, shuffling the box in his arms. "I will avoid insulting him directly and to his face. Happy?"

"Yes," Derek responded, knowing his brother well enough to know that was as much as he was going to get. Without asking, he lifted the box from Julian and carefully tucked it into the car. Crossing his arms over his chest, Derek hesitantly turned back to his brother. "That party... Are you going?"

"Not invited. And I have plans."

Derek looked almost hurt by the curt answer though he hid it quickly by nodding and gesturing at the house behind them. "I think we're done here but I'm going to do another last walkthrough. See if I missed anything."

Julian nodded noncommittally. "I'll get going then. Looks like it's going to start raining again."

"I can give you a ride-" Derek began only for Julian to cut him off.

"I'll walk. I could use the air."

"It's already spitting, and your leg-"

"Is fine. Besides, there's not enough room in the car for the four of us. And there's a party to go to," he added with a small shrug. "You have fun."

Reluctantly, Derek dropped the argument and Julian took that as his cue to leave only for Derek to stop him. "Before you go..." Derek dug into his pocket and retrieved something, motioning for Julian to hold out his hands. "It's not a worm this time," he joked, catching Julian's hesitance.

Julian gave him a withering look and held out his palm as sarcastically as he could.

The necklace Derek dropped into Julian's palm was intensely familiar. A thin sliver of wood with a triskele carved into it hung on a leather cord. He recognised the artist immediately; the intricate patterns worn into the wood might as well have been his mother's signature.

"Found this upstairs," Derek told him. "Thought you might want it."

Julian gave of small nod of wordless thanks, running his finger against the smooth swirls of bloodwood. While he was by no means an expert carver, he'd spent enough afternoons on the porch with his mother to recognise the amount of time and skill went into carving with such a brittle wood.

"Just don't lose it," Derek said gruffly as Julian looped the cord over his neck, fingers still playing with the carving. Clearing his throat, Derek tucked his hands into his pockets and stared his brother down. "If it starts raining any harder, call me," he insisted. "I'll drive you the rest of the way."

Realising that Derek wasn't going to back down, Julian gave in and agreed, albeit sarcastically.

"I survived the kanima and Gerard Argent," Julian reminded him as he tucked the charm under his shirt, the cool wood resting against his bare skin. "I think I can handle a little rain."

Derek narrowed his eyes and Julian gave him an exasperated sigh.

"Fine. If it starts thundering, I'll call you."

Derek gave him a rare, rather smug smile. "Good."

* * *

It turned out to be more than a little rain and by the time Julian arrived home his shirt and pants were soaked through, clinging to him like a second skin. No doubt Derek's offer still stood, but Julian had been two minutes away from his destination when it the rain had truly started pouring and he hadn't seen the point in calling. He'd have been out in the rain longer waiting for Derek than he would be making a run for it.

Peeling off his soaked clothes and dumping them in the laundry room, he made a vague attempt at drying his hair and grabbed a dry shirt and pair of pants before he headed into the kitchen and plugged in the kettle. He gave in after thirty seconds and went to grab a sweater.

He was trying to rub some warmth back into his arms when he heard the knock at the door. Immediately, he started going through options. It wasn't Stiles; it was two hours early, nor was it Deaton. The vet had an appointment with a parrot. Scott was at work and Lydia had claimed she had weekend plans. No sales or religious people bothered coming out into the outskirts of town, and without a knowledge of the area, most tended to miss the entrance to the driveway. Which left Julian's list lacking of a true suspect. If Stiles had been around, he'd have figured it out immediately.

Frowning, Julian gave into his curiosity and peeked out the window. He was greeted with the sight of a black SUV parked in his driveway, a familiar man worriedly waiting in the front seat with his eyes on the door.

Julian didn't exactly want to open the door anymore. Not doing so would be the simple, arguably advisable thing to do, he argued. The smart decision that no one was going to blame him for. But Derek's words about not being an asshole were still fresh in Julian's mind, so instead of doing the understandable thing and avoiding Allison Argent like the plague, Julian found himself inviting her in.

Granted, even he had absolutely no idea why he had or what he was going to say or do once she was inside, but she'd been standing on his porch in the pouring rain with her arms crossed tightly across her chest, and it seemed the most obvious course of action. Even if it was a stupid one. It was only after she'd come in that it began to sink in that they hadn't spoken since she stabbed him and tried to murder his brother, and while Scott seemed sure that she wasn't going to continue her murder spree, perhaps inviting her in when he was home alone hadn't been the best idea he'd ever had.

Watching her futilely try to dry her soaked through shoes on the mat, her hair dripping all over the floor and her overlarge sweatshirt, Julian reassessed his opinion. Tentatively, he took a sniff of the air and found, curling under the scent of the spring rain and the air freshener, beneath Allison's nervousness and her vanilla deodorant, grief, shame and discomfort ran together.

She'd clearly caught him smelling her though she remained silent, staring back at him. At first, Julian was grateful she didn't point it out. Then he realised she clearly was as uncertain of what to say as he was, and he started wishing she would say something.

Except she didn't.

Not bothering to attempt a smile, Julian gestured lamely towards the kitchen. Wordlessly, she followed him, her shoes squeaking on the tile floor and droplets of water falling from the ends of the floor to hit the tile with a light _plop._ When Julian stepped into the kitchen, she stopped and lingered near the exit, shifting her weight from foot to foot and gnawing on her lip.

Leaning cautiously back against the counter, Julian raised an eyebrow. "You wanted to talk?" he prompted, hoping that he sounded less lost than he felt.

"I wanted to apologise," Allison stated after several seconds, looking up to meet Julian's gaze evenly, genuine regret in her scent and her words. "I can't undo what I did and I'm not going to pretend it didn't happen or that it was someone else's fault. I knew what I was doing and I knew I was hurting people. And I did it anyways." Her brow creased and she paused to take a shaky breath, though her voice remained steady as the words tumbled out. "I'm sorry about your brother, and I'm sorry about stabbing you. And I know that doesn't change what happened, I just… I need to say it."

Julian stared at her. Even if she had been the one to stab him, he wasn't sure he really had the moral high ground given that he'd been trying to rip out an old man's throat. He'd been protecting his family he'd told himself. Getting back at the monster for what the bastard had done to his family. Except, Julian was forced to realise, Allison had been doing the exact same thing. She hadn't known about what her mother had tried to do to Scott. The idiot had decided not to tell her out of some backwards notion of protecting her. All Allison had known was that Derek Hale was the reason Victoria Argent killed herself in her daughter's bedroom with a kitchen knife.

Julian slowly realised he was still studying her in total silence with a faint frown on his face. Making a conscious effort to appear less angry, Julian tried to search for something to say and completely failed. He wasn't mad at her. Not really. He couldn't summon an ounce of genuine malice towards her. Especially not with the grief and regret swirling through the air around her. That wasn't to say that it was all just fine. Because it wasn't. The new scar on his leg was evidence enough of that, as was the way he'd unconsciously placed himself close to the backdoor.

Allison was still waiting for a response, and looking at her only made things worse, because while Julian could clearly remember the knife and the fury and grief in her eyes when she'd entered the warehouse, he could also remember her doodling in chemistry class while she spoke excitedly with Lydia. How she picked the mushrooms off the cafeteria pizza before she ate, and how she gladly took the pickles Julian had peeled off of his soggy burger on the day he'd been forced to buy lunch instead of simply making his own as he usually did.

Currently, she was almost hugging herself, her fingers digging into her arms, revealing that her nails were as ragged and nearly as badly torn as his own.

That was the last straw, and Julian, still lacking a spoken response, instead grabbed the kettle off the counter behind him and offered it to the brunette. "You want hot chocolate?" he asked brusquely.

Surprise followed by relief crossed her pale face, and Allison bobbed her head in acceptance. "Thanks," she practically whispered.

Seated on the floor with their backs against the cupboards, Julian and Allison both simply stared out at nothing, still unsure of what they were supposed to say. Allison had curled her legs up close to her chest, the cup cradled carefully in her hands so that the warmth spread through as much of her body as possible. It wasn't particularly cold outside or in, but then again it wasn't a physical chill that Allison was trying to block out.

"I heard about your mother," Julian said eventually. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Stupid, useless words that were the only genuine ones that he could use. Julian wasn't sorry the woman had died. He hadn't been when he'd heard the news, and he doubted he'd ever be able to muster any sadness over her death. She'd tried to kill an innocent teenager by slow suffocation, and Julian had enough experience with smoke inhalation to know what that felt like, sapping any remote speck of sympathy he may have had for her away.

However, Julian happened to know a thing about shitty relatives that you still cared about. Allison's mother was still her mother.

He shouldn't have said anything. Allison stiffened at his words and her grip on the mug turned white knuckled. Taking a slow breath, her eyes closed for several seconds before her muscles slowly relaxed one by one.

"I know what she did," the hunter said softly, the brief flash of anger turning to a deep sorrow. "Scott told me." The statement was short and rough. Understandably so. Not telling Allison had been a stupid decision on Scott's part. While he may have simply been trying to be nice, Julian also suspected that Scott was too busy worrying about Allison's reaction than about the potential repercussions outside of their relationship. Scott may not have known about the bite, none of them had thanks to Derek's tendency to keep non-pack members out of the loop, but that didn't change the fact that letting Julian and Stiles know that one of the teachers was out for murder probably would've been a good idea.

"It's like Kate all over again," Allison breathed, a bark of laughter escaping her chapped lips. "Before I moved here, I thought my family was normal. Overprotective, sure, and we moved constantly… I used to think that was what made me weird. Being the perpetual new kid. And then being the new kid who got held back a year. But as soon as we got here everything changed." Toying and then tugging at a strand of her hair, Allison slumped a bit. "At first, I thought we were protecting people. That _I_ was protecting people. And then…" Her face fell. "I was such an idiot... And then I thought it was just her. That I'd learned and that I knew better. Turns out neither of those are true."

Studying her carefully, Julian finally found something to say. "When Derek, Laura and I were living in Kansas, we ran into some hunters," he began slowly, drumming his fingers against the rim of his mug. "A father and son trying to investigate some deaths in the area. I'm not sure how they found us, but a few misunderstandings later and we ended up boarded up in this matchbox apartment with the couch over the door. Laura had to dig a bullet out of her leg while trying to explain that we don't eat hearts to the guys with a damn armory in the back of their Impala."

Allison looked at him with curiosity, searching for the point in the anecdote. "Did they listen?"

Julian cocked his head to the side, deciding against telling her that the son had nearly blown his head off with a shotgun before he finally got the man to listen.

"They did," he said after a moment. "After we talked them down and Laura showed she could control the shift, they backed off. The younger guy started hitting on Laura, actually," he added, smiling at the memory of Laura's shocked and embarrassed reaction. "Point is they gave us the 'don't leave town' speech and headed off. Week later and they found the real guy. Some omega losing it with the moon and ripping up college students." Sighing, Julian forced himself to meet the girl in the eyes. "Look, I'm not going to pretend to like hunters or that you don't still kinda scare the crap out of me," he told her bluntly. She flinched slightly at the last bit, but he continued on. "But you guys exist for a reason. Sometimes. And at least when you lost it you didn't end up killing someone," he added.

"I came pretty close though."

Julian raised an eyebrow. "Maybe don't tell anyone else that."

Allison was temporarily taken aback by the joke, the twinge at the corners of her lips momentary and confused. As though she was unsure if she was allowed to laugh. She seemed to be in the middle of overthinking it even further when she twitched in surprise. A recently roused Oliver had trotted over to her and collapsed next to her leg with an expectant look in his one good eye as he jabbed at her leg with his damp nose. Hesitantly, she reached down to stroke the dog between the ears causing the Oliver's crooked tail to start eagerly wagging back and forth.

Apparently Oliver liked an Argent over Julian, something the beta was more irked by than was probably reasonable.

Allison was the one who broke the silence that had fallen. "I don't know if we're going to keep up the family name," she admitted, not having noticed Julian glowering at the tiny dog she was stroking. "After all it's put my family through, we need some distance, you know? To make a decision. To try and find ourselves now that…" She shook her head and swallowed hard before she got to the point. "My dad wants to move to France for the rest of the school year."

That caught Julian's attention. " _Wants_ you to or _is_ moving you to?"

"He's already signed me up for some online courses," Allison responded with resignation, gazing into the middle distance. "It's not like it would be the first time. We used to move every few months. This is actually the longest we've stayed in one place in the past two years."

Which left the one remaining question. "Are you coming back?"

Looking lost, Allison shrugged almost helplessly. "I don't know… I just can't stay here right now. All I want to do is go somewhere new. Start fresh for at least a little while. I can't ever go back to who I was before I found out about all this, but I want to. Just for a few months at least. I can't move on if everything around me is holding me back."

Julian nodded mostly to himself. "When are you leaving?"

"In a couple of days. That's why I came over."

"Doing the rounds?" Julian asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Something like that. I was just at Scott's." She hesitated and a fond, albeit sadness filled smile crossed her face. "He's completely surrounded by all the school work he missed trying to catch up. He's really serious about trying to fix everything."

Julian figured that it was best to get that particular topic of conversation over as soon as possible. "How are you?" he asked slowly, as unsure of how to breach post-break up conversation with her as he was about the fact she'd stabbed him.

Allison had the good grace not to address the obvious awkwardness and reluctance in the question. "I care about him and he's a good guy, but I don't need someone trying to fix everything," she replied, tracing the rim of the mug in her hands. "To fix me."

Clearing his throat uncomfortably, Julian changed the topic. "Have you told Lydia yet?"

She nodded. "She was the first one… I'm supposed to meet her soon. She wants to do one last hurrah before I go. For someone who spent the last months being haunted by Peter, she bounces back fast."

"I think she's happy that she's not being cut out of the loop," Julian agreed. "She spent all of art class grilling me on werewolves."

"I remember the feeling," Allison murmured bemusedly. The reminder of her meeting with her best friend prompted her to pull out her phone. Her eyes widened as she read the time. "I have to get going," she explained apologetically.

"It's fine," Julian replied, going to stand with her. "You didn't need to come in the first place. Not that I'm mad that you did," he amended quickly though Allison didn't seem to have noticed.

Shoving the phone back into her pocket, she began to rummage through her pockets until she dug out something and held it in her open palm. A slim USB key with the initials _J.D.H_ written in marker across it.

Julian took it from her and turned it over in his hand, running his fingers across the worn letters.

"I read it," Allison said after a moment. "After everything… You didn't need to give me that."

Julian frowned. "Trust is a two way street," he replied. "And I don't want to end up fighting with the Argents for the rest of my life."

"Hatfields and McCoys," she murmured.

Julian offered her a wry grin. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm not interested in pulling a Romeo and Juliet solution."

She laughed quietly. "I'm fine with that," she responded tiredly, standing still for several seconds before she made a short motion with her hand.

Catching the meaning, Julian nodded and led her out, back through the hallway and out to the driveway where a black SUV waited, Chris Argent waiting somberly in the driver's seat. Awkwardly, Julian gave the man a sort of half wave.

"Hey, Julian," Allison asked, pausing on the porch, the rain pelting down on her. "Keep an eye on Scott and Lydia for me, will you?"

"Sure... And Allison? Take care of yourself in France. And in general."

Allison smiled gratefully before she walked off into the rain, leaving Julian and Beacon Hills behind her.

* * *

It had taken more than a little convincing, a sprinkle of loud exclamations accompanied by grand hand gestures, and a dash of threats uttered with a completely deadpan expression before Stiles and Julian finally managed to talk Scott into coming with them to the movie theatre. First, Scott had been trying to point the finger at all the homework he had, insisting that he couldn't possibly take the break.

"Come on man," Stiles had half-shouted, throwing his arms in the air in exasperation. "You can take a break! You've been working constantly! Take a minute for yourself!"

"You got an eighty two on your biology test," Julian had added. "I think you can give yourself a break for a couple of hours."

Then Scott had mumbled something about not wanting to go out and even Julian couldn't make out much other than Allison's name and something that sounded like 'pickles'.

"You're going," Julian had stated firmly, Stiles nodding emphatically next to him.

"As your friends, it is our duty to drag you along on a night out," Stiles had informed Scott seriously. "And seeing as you can't get drunk and I don't want my father to kill me, we're going to the movies. So are you going to come willingly or are we going to have to drag your ass into the Jeep?"

Scott had scoffed at that until Julian had offered him an icy smile. "Is that a yes then?" he'd asked seriously, the words causing Scott to falter and his smile to slowly slip off his face as Julian stared him down.

Scott hadn't pressed the issue after that.

Now they were in the lobby of the theatre, Scott and Julian waiting for Stiles to finish up before heading off to find seats. One of the nice things about living in a small town was that there was almost always room in the theatre for even the newer releases since most people went and saw them the moment they came out. That and the five bucks a ticket rule on a Tuesday, which was something Julian had actually forgotten about before he'd arrived.

"The last time I was here, Cora and I went to see _The Incredibles,_ " Julian commented, lazily scanning the building while he leaned back against the wall. He was tired to the bone and his hair was still damp from the rain, the humidity in the air causing it to begin to curl.

Scott paused for a moment before he spoke. "Your sister?" he guessed, and it occurred to Julian that Derek wouldn't have spoken much of their family. Not that he'd ever been particularly open about it with Scott either.

"She was a year older," Julian explained, lips quirking up into a smile as he continued. "She spent the next four weeks running around the house in a towel cape."

"Isn't the moral of that movie _not_ to wear a cape?" Scott questioned.

"Cora wasn't big on lessons. I think she just liked the explosions. And that there was a story about a family with superpowers where they were… ordinary. Went to school. Dated. Argued with siblings. That sort of thing."

Scott nodded thoughtfully. His brow creased and he looked up at Julian curiously. "Wait- Your sisters were named Cora and Laura?" he asked.

"Peter desperately wanted to name me Eric," Julian responded. The response caused Scott's brow to furrow further in confusion before he realised the implications and let out chuckle, seeming to have realised Julian was fine with a lighter discussion rather than a somber one.

The laugh faded back into that uncertainty though. "Laura," Scott began hesitantly. "She could turn into a wolf too."

Julian remembered then that he and Scott hadn't ever really discussed the fact that he could turn into a giant dog. They'd both been busy, and Scott had been too focused on moping and working to truly address what had happened that night in the warehouse. Of course Scott was going to bring it up in a public place too. Deciding that anyone eavesdropping would assume they were either joking, nuts, or the eavesdropper had missed a vital part of the conversation, Julian spoke.

"It's a family thing," he attempted to explain. "Technically all the Hales have the potential to but not everyone can fully shift like she could. Like I can. We're 'evolved' wolves." He added air quotes to the word, an air of sarcasm about the action that prompted Scott to raise his eyebrows. "It's pretentious," Julian said. "All it really means is that you have enough dormant power and some specific genes."

"And that you can turn into a full-on wolf," Scott added with a wry smile.

Julian found himself snorting. "That too," he admitted. A frown crossed his face and he looked to Scott with a sense of trepidation. "It doesn't weird you out, does it?"

Scott blinked in honest surprise. "Why would it?"

Shrugging, "It scares some people," Julian responded. "They think we're too close to the animal half. They're not always wrong."

"Hey, I grow sideburns and fangs every full moon, and then spend the night trying not to go running through the woods on all fours," Scott pointed out cheerfully. "It's basically going through puberty again once a month. If anything, it's less weird than that. And as for the whole animal thing? Wolves are loyal, smart and social," Scott added sincerely. "That's more than some people can say."

Julian stared at him before clearing his throat and changing the topic. "How's math going?"

"Better," Scott said enthusiastically. "Lydia's been a massive help, and Ms. Morrell told me about this online tutoring service. I'm still going to take it again this summer to boost my mark up." He paused to smile brightly. "I think I'll be dreaming of parabolas for the foreseeable future though," he joked. "How's your art thing going?"

"The portraits?" Julian asked, receiving a nod of confirmation. Julian sighed. "They're a pain. Some people are easier to draw than others... Stiles is a fucking nightmare with all of his moles."

Scott chuckled at that. "What about me?"

Julian hesitated on that one. The honest answer was that drawing Scott was both extremely hard and extremely easy. Easy because Julian could recall the shape of his slightly crooked jaw and the curve of his cheekbones in a heartbeat. Easy because he liked Scott McCall and could easily picture him smiling or waving, running headfirst into danger like the good-intentioned idiot he was. Hard because Julian didn't like thinking about how easy it was to draw Scott compared to other people because that brought up a bunch of thoughts that he didn't want to have to address. Life was finally slowing down, and he didn't need to work through that shit right now. Not that it was shit per say, just that it was the same confusing mess that it'd been last time. He'd just finished dealing with Gerard and exams were coming up. He didn't need more stress in his life.

That, and Scott's hair was as much of a nightmare to try and figure out as Stiles' moles. Julian had found himself staring at it trying to figure out how he was supposed to mimic that with a pencil. He was doing it now, he realised.

"You're easier than Lydia," he said after a moment of consideration. "I'm not great at drawing long hair."

Scott laughed at that. "Sure," he said in a rare show of sarcasm. "I bet you're _terrible_ at it."

Julian went to speak but was interrupted by Scott catching sight of Stiles, who had returned with his popcorn and Coke in hand, and flagged the lanky teen down.

Approaching with his mouth already full of popcorn, "Shall we?" Stiles asked theatrically.

"We were waiting for you," Scott reminded him.

"Whatever," Stiles said dismissively, waving off the comment, the motion causing his Coke to slosh dangerously up against the lid. "Tonight, my friends, is a night of joyous celebrations. For tonight, we watch _Thor._ "

Julian shrugged noncommittally while Scott watched his friend's face crumple with a bemused smile.

"Come on," Stiles said defensively. "Loki is supposed to be _awesome,_ and... And neither of you care."

"I'm glad you're excited," Scott told him diplomatically.

Julian just shrugged tiredly. "I've got candy."

"Close enough," Stiles muttered. Suddenly, he was smiling again and raising his Coke up in the air like it was a mug of ale and they were in a medieval movie of some kind. "To the start of a murder and monster free summer," Stiles toasted.

Scott smiled and lifted his water bottle in turn. "To a productive one."

With no drink to raise, Julian held up his bag of Skittles, smiling despite himself. "Hear hear."

"Hear hear," the other two echoed. Scott and Stiles both took a drink while Julian chewed a green Skittle thoughtfully.

After several seconds, "You guys realise we probably just jinxed it, right?" Julian asked.

Scott smiled. Next to him, Stiles hesitated."Well," he said with a shrug. "Let's go watch the movie before something starts trying to kill us again. I paid for these tickets, and damned if some overgrown dog is gonna stop me from using them."


	23. Chapter 23

**Author's Note: Hey, just a preemptive note that I have exams coming up and that might end up screwing up my schedule more than it already has. Also, I saw some people asking about Jackson... I was considering maybe keeping him around but eventually decided against it. It's hard to keep track of multiple characters when writing (especially when you have 3+ people talking back and forth) and with Isaac, Allison and Lydia's storylines becoming more connected to the main plot, and the addition of Cora, I don't think there's really space for him. That said, I'm not intending on pulling the 'he left and we will never comment on his existence again' thing. He'll probably get shipped off next chapter.**

 **A few more things: First, some people have asked about Julian's sexuality (I think someone asked if he was ace?), I view him as being gray-ace or demisexual. Secondly, I'm going to stick with the canon background pairings for Season 3 so Allison/Isaac, and Derek's thing with the teacher (Sorry, Derek. You really don't deserve it).**

 **One last thing, I wanted to thank everyone for getting this story over 100 favs/follows. It means a lot, and I'd like to say thanks. So... Thanks. A lot.**

* * *

One of the perks to be friends with the Sheriff's son was that most of the deputies tended to overlook the little things. Like how Scott spent what little free time he had running through the town with accused-of-patricide Isaac Lahey smelling people's garbage. Or how Lydia Martin was often seen wandering around with a dog that was never on its leash, speaking with it like it could hear her. Or how Stiles had taken to spending long afternoons badgering officers about any new information in some of the department's more unusual cases. All these things most of the deputies had learned to look past. Apparently the new guy hadn't gotten the memo.

And the man was new. A tall brunette who'd been brought in to help replenish the numbers after the slaughter in the station a few months earlier. From what Stiles had said, the station was still short-handed to say the least. That much wasn't surprising; Beacon Hills had gotten a reputation after the second serial killer showed up in less than six months. At least there hadn't been trouble since then. In the absence of supernatural monsters tearing people to shreds, the town as a whole had gotten back to some semblance of normalcy, and the deputies were now free to stop people for stupid useless violations once more.

"Look, boys," the deputy began. Julian let out a snort and Scott shot him a quick glare as he politely attempted to look past the rather obvious fact that the deputy was at most six years older than them. And that was being generous. Yet there the guy was, acting as though he was the wise old mentor figure guiding troubled youths down a better path. In actuality, he was a rookie cop with a ticket quota to meet, telling off two teenagers for not having their dog on a leash.

"He doesn't need a leash," Scott argued, trying his best to appeal to Deputy Parrish. "He's really well-trained," he added, gesturing at Julian with a polite and sincere smile on his face.

"Exactly," Stiles added, bobbing his head up and down in agreement before deciding to prove his point. "Sit."

Julian glared at him and his lip curled up to expose long, pointed teeth before he caught the concerned scent wafting off of the deputy and he hastily rearranged his expression and slowly lowered himself down onto the pavement, simmering in silence. He was going to _kill_ Stiles once Officer Nitpick finally took a hint and left. Resisting the urge to growl, Julian looked back to the man with his best dumb doggy grin plastered across his face, hoping that the deputy would chill out. The guy smelled like a walking ashtray, and Julian didn't want to have to spend any more time near him than absolutely necessary.

After what seemed like an eternity, the deputy turned his attention away from the aggravated 'husky' and focused back on the two humans. "Look, while I'm sure he's a nice dog, you can't have him wandering around. It's a public area, and you don't even have a collar," he added sternly.

Stiles straightened up at the man's comment and shot Scott and Julian an 'I told you so' look. The lanky teen had taken it rather personally that Julian had all but thrown the stupid red thing he'd bought in the garbage. Julian had taken it rather personally that Stiles thought he was willing to put the fucking thing on in the first place. He was a werewolf not some fluffed up Pomeranian. And if the deputy did end up ticketing them, he'd pay for it himself.

After drumming his fingers on the pad of his paper in his hands, the deputy closed his eyes and let out a slow breath before he tucked the ticket book away. Doing his best to appear stern yet apologetic, the man levelled them with a serious expression. "I don't want to see him off leash again," he said with finality.

Next to Julian, Scott let out a breath of relief and shot the wolf a broad smile.

"No problem, officer," Stiles said with a lazy grin that made him seem extremely insincere.

Deputy Parrish clearly thought so as well. It was boiling hot out though, and the man wanted as much as anyone else to retreat back into somewhere with air conditioning. With the long-suffering sigh of someone much older than he was, "You two get somewhere cool too," the deputy chastised. "You look like you've been out all afternoon, and trust me when I say you don't want to get heatstroke," he added with a wry smile.

"We'll be careful," Scott assured him, waving goodbye with a good-natured grin that disappeared the moment the man's back turned. It was only after the man finally drove away that Scott let out a breath and turned to Stiles. "That was _way_ too close."

Stiles shrugged. "I mean, he didn't arrest us," he pointed out, motioning for the others to follow him down the street. "And it's not like he caught us breaking in. Because then we'd have been explaining to my dad not only why we're going to old crime scenes, but also that we did the whole 'breaking in' part too."

Scott let out a hum, eyes focused on the house they were fast approaching. After four months, Scott had been doing better. His teachers were praising the return of the old Scott, and when Julian had gone to pick his friend up, he'd spotted Mr. Harris _complimenting_ Scott's work. A few people had made jokes about Scott being replaced, but anyone who knew him well seemed less than surprised. Personally, Julian agreed with Stiles' take on the matter: Scott wasn't dumb- far from it- he was just distracted and stressed out of his mind. Now, without any threat of imminent death looming over him, he could get the work done once more which brought his grades up with the added bonus of getting his mind off his ex-girlfriend.

That last part wasn't going to last. With only a couple of weeks left before school started back up again, Allison would be returning. And knowing Scott, he was bound to be thinking about her. More immediately, was the fact that they were about to break into her house. Scott could do a lot of things, but keeping his mind completely free of his ex girlfriend while rummaging through her stuff was probably not one of them.

By the time they'd started up the driveway that led to the abandoned house, Scott's thoughtful frown had confirmed Julian's suspicions. As did the way he kept rocking back and forth on his feet as he waited for Stiles to unlock the door.

Rummaging through his pockets, Stiles swore quietly. "I can't find the key."

Reaching past him, Scott knocked on the door and was awarded with a skeptical look from his friend. "Yeah, I'm sure that'll work," Stiles remarked sarcastically. "Not like the owners left or-" The oak door swung open and Stiles skittered back a step, regaining his balance in time to shoot a glare at his bemused friend.

An unimpressed Lydia in a light floral dress was waiting within the house. She gave them a weary once over before stepping aside, ushering them inside before someone spotted the teenagers breaking into empty home.

"How…" Stiles asked in bewilderment.

Rolling her eyes, Lydia slipped her fingers into her purse and procured a key. "Allison gave it to me," she explained. "I forgot to give it back to her before she left," she half-murmured, a momentary crease in her brows reminding Julian that Lydia had spent the summer without her best friend. She slipped effortlessly back into her normal prim demeanour, gesturing towards the kitchen. "Most of the main floor was cleaned out during the move. I haven't gone upstairs yet, I wanted to check the basement…" Her lips pursed and a shiver ran through her. "If there's going to be anything, it's probably down there," she informed them, a hitch in her voice as she did so.

Picking up on her unease, Scott gestured vaguely at the stairs leading up to the bedrooms. "If you guys want to check up there, Julian and I can cover the basement," he said, forcing an optimistic smile. "All we need is a reference of some kind."

Julian stayed silent, hoping that his face was giving away how pointless he thought this whole exercise was. It had been _months._ They were here now because they couldn't find the scent anymore, under some misguided hope that they could find a scent article to help them pick up the scent again. As though Derek and Isaac, who'd spent months living with the two would suddenly be able to find them again after months of fruitless searching.

Had any of them realised earlier, maybe they could've found something. As it was, Julian was realistic enough to know that the likelihood of them finding either Erica or Boyd was next to none. The police had already done a search of the entire town; Stiles' father had spent weeks canvasing the local towns and scouring through hours of security footage from bus stations and train stations. They'd turned up nothing.

Of course, the only people who knew why they'd run had assumed that they'd joined up with a pack. Chris Argent has assured them that Erica and Boyd left the Argent house and headed west. And even Derek believed him. Apparently they'd heard word of another pack in the area, and it had been assumed they'd gone radio silent out of fear of a still on-the-loose Gerard. Except they didn't call. Not Derek. Not Isaac. Not even their own families. By the time Derek and Isaac started digging around, any trail had long since gone cold.

 _Probably dead,_ Julian thought darkly, his ears tilting backwards. In place of drumming fingers, his tail swished back and forth across the floor as he studied the plain white door in front of him. _This was the last place they were seen alive._

Scott walked up next to him and set his hand on the doorknob before he looked to the anxious wolf sitting by his feet. That time, Scott didn't bother forcing a smile. He let his brow crease with worry and his grip on the doorknob to tighten. "If there's any place to pick up the scent, it's here," he stated hollowly. Frowning to himself, he steeled his resolve. "We can't just stand around and do nothing," he said with determination.

Huffing, Julian turned his attention back to the door, watching apprehensively as Scott opened it to reveal the darkened entrance leading down into the depths of the basement.

Out of habit and false hope, Scott toggled the light switch back and forth. He was met with darkness and a snort from the wolf next to him. Scott didn't bother suggesting the action had been worth a shot. He let his hand fall to his side and took a deep breath, allowing his nails to elongate and the fine hairs on the back of his hand to turn into coarse fur. When he opened his eyes, they were glowing a warm yellow. Taking a couple of breaths to psyche himself up, Scott started walking forwards with his nailed hand trailing lightly along the wall to help him keep his balance on the narrow steps.

Too the casual observer, Scott's descent seemed easy and casual. But Julian wasn't a casual observer, and with his senses already heightened from nerves and shifting, he could see the tension in Scott's shoulders and hear the fluttering of his heart.

Julian tore his gaze away from Scott's retreating form and stared reluctantly down at the steps before him. They were little more than planks of wood that creaked warningly whenever weight was put on them. _Yet another reason not to go down,_ Julian thought bitterly as he tentatively set his foot down on the wood. He wished he could blame his reluctance on being unused to going down stairs on four legs, but that wasn't it. The truth of the matter was that Julian hated basements. Always had, and thanks to the fire, always would. They were dark and useless and full of spiders and memories he didn't want to relive.

Julian couldn't exactly frown, but his lip curled and his tail twitched more and more anxiously with every hesitant step he took into the darkness. The air became cooler the further down he went, sending uncomfortable chills up the furless patches of skin on Julian's front leg and prompting his ears to flatten back further. Finally, the burning in his lungs became to much and he inhaled far too quickly in an attempt to get the initial barrage over with. The damp, earthy smell of the basement would've been almost comforting had it not been accompanied by a metallic tang in the air and a sickly sweet sting in the back of Julian's throat. He felt like he'd just breathed in a lungful of iron filings; slicing into the skin of his mouth and nose and setting his hair on end. After a few more breaths, he got used to the stinging, though he could still feel a burning behind his eyes.

 _Focus on finding anything of Boyd or Erica's,_ he reminded himself. _There might be a minuscule chance of finding something that'll help._

Then Julian's feet hit the cool concrete of the floor and he forced himself to take it all in, pale eyes scanning the room with trepidation.

At first, he was underwhelmed. The air was painful and the darkness was creeping and unpleasant, but the basement itself was just empty. A table pushed to the side of the room and a half-repaired lawnmower beside it. Along the opposite wall sat several boxes with sloppy labels on them. Julian knew they said _something_ but his brain couldn't quite connect the letters into words, and the problem only became more pronounced the longer he stared.

Shaking his head, Julian looked to Scott to find that the other beta had gone stock still but for his violently shaking hands, the clawed tips digging into the skin and adding more copper to the air. His gaze was fixated at the floor near his feet. Plain concrete that had been stained with droplets of blood, splattered across the stone in thin drips and lines. The pattern was similar to the ones on the mats at Julian's old martial arts studio after a particularly violent fight or a misjudged punch. Though there was nothing accidental about what Gerard had done here. Julian winced, realising then why Scott had insisted Stiles go upstairs with Lydia.

Averting his eyes from the blood, Julian attempted to focus on the rest of the room, scanning the tables for anything useful. That was when he noticed the battery. Initially, he'd dismissed it as being part of the broken lawnmower, taken out to repair it. Except the battery was too big to be from the lawnmower, and the copper wiring attached to it went up the wall.

Stomach tightening, Julian followed the wire up to where it wrapped around exposed piping and ducts, taped into place, before ending in two long strings that hung about three feet down from the ceiling. Tracing the path down to the floor, Julian walked numbly forwards and stared at the grey material, noting the dark stained pattern near the edge of the metal drain cover. It didn't take a genius to work out what Gerard had done.

Suddenly, Scott stepped back and swung his backpack off his shoulder and set it on the floor. His shaking fingers struggled with the zipper for several seconds before he managed to wrench it open. He was trying to distract himself, that much was obvious.

Still wary, Julian watched as Scott pulled out the plastic bags from behind his meticulously ordered binders and textbooks.

"You smell anything, just… Make a noise," Scott said, gripping the bags tightly in his hands. "There's gotta be something useful here."

Julian remained silent and gave Scott a curt nod before he turned and started smelling the air, trying to find anything helpful beneath the wolfsbane and mould. He stuck to the edges of the room; nosing around under the staircase. Spiderwebs and a nose full of dust were miles more preferable than going over to the suspicious stains on the concrete.

Besides, it wasn't as though the stains were helpful. They needed something that would let them pick up the scent again; a comparison of sorts. Likely useless, but at this point, useless hope was about all they had left.

After hitting a particularly large clod of dust, Julian sneezed, his whole body shuddering. He was beginning to regret having shifted fully. At the time, it had seemed like the most obvious solution; his sense of smell would be heightened enough to pick up something that Derek or Isaac may have missed on their first run through of the place. Now though, all he could pick up was wolfsbane, bleach, oil, and the cloying smell of cigarettes someone had chosen to smoke inside.

"You getting anything?" Scott called over, standing up and swiping at his eyes. Rubbing them would only make the pain worse, Julian knew. Not that he could tell Scott that. So instead he swung his head back and forth in an approximation of shaking his head no.

Frowning, Scott threw open a cupboard and began pulling out boxes under some misguided hope that the Argents cared enough about Boyd or Erica to store their things when they were torturing them. "Can you give me a hand?" Scott asked, yanking a toolbox off the shelf and half-chucking it onto the floor to land with a resounding _thud._

Padding over, Julian nosed at the toolbox, his insides contracting unpleasantly as he caught a metallic smell on the contents within that was far too coppery to be the tools themselves. Making a short, barking growl, Julian pointed his head at the tools. Scott seemed to get the message, and tucked a wrench and hammer into the plastic bag before he went back to puling boxes off shelves. The first few minutes were fruitless. Just boxes of dried plants and old clothes that smelled like mould. And then Scott stopped, eyes widening.

The jacket in his hands was Erica's. It had to bee. The only hunter in the house who'd fit into something that size was Allison, and studded black leather was hardly her style. Julian unsteadily popped up onto his back legs, scrambling to set his front legs onto one of the lower shelves, and reached up to smell the jacket Scott was holding in his hands. The jacket smelled dusty more than anything else. It had been tossed in the cupboard to get it out of the way and had spent months among boxes that no one had bothered to unpack. Clinging desperately to the fabric underneath it all was a sugary perfume.

Frowning, Julian looked to Scott, expecting him to have grabbed a bag by now. Instead, Scott was standing frozen, eyes fixated on the sight of his finger poking through a hole in the black leather.

At first, Julian didn't quite get the big deal. They'd known that Erica had been injured, and the fact that the Argents hadn't been concerned about keeping her coat in one piece was obvious. Julian frowned, studying the hole more closely. Initially, he'd dismissed it as the result of a knife. Upon closer inspection, he could see that the hole was too round and too small to have been caused by a knife. It was more likely the result of a bullet.

Or an arrow.

The memory of Allison's apology hit him like a truck, running over and over again in his head on a loop. Chris had been terrified of his daughter falling, and it was clear now what had prompted that fear.

Worriedly, Julian ripped his attention off of the jacket and onto Scott. The realisation that the heartbeat thundering in his ears was not his own was just the start, and Julian's alarm grew as Scott took in a harsh, rasping inhale. His eyes were still focused on the jacket, fixating on his fingers as though nothing else in the world mattered. Julian was familiar enough with panic attacks to recognise one in someone else, and he knew Scott well enough to know that if he didn't distract himself, his airway would start constricting his breathing.

Tentatively, Julian bumped his head against Scott's leg. Strictly speaking, touching someone was generally a bad idea, but he was hoping that the fact that he was effectively a giant dog would negate that factor. Scott needed to ground himself, and Julian couldn't think of another way to do it when he couldn't talk.

Scott stiffened at the contact and for a brief moment Julian worried that he'd drastically misjudged the situation. Then, Scott allowed his hand to drop to his side, brushing the tip of Julian's ear as the taller of the two closed his eyes and took a slow breath in and out. Clenching and unclenching his hands with every breath, Scott's heart rate slowed, and the razor sharp claws faded into blunted nails.

"I'm fine," Scott insisted, nodding to himself before he directed the next words at Julian. "I'll be fine."

Julian's ears twitched and Scott gave him a strained smile. "I just need some air," he said softly, tucking the jacket into the bag he'd brought and sealing the plastic shut in an effort to keep any tiny trace of a scent from fading away. Clearing his throat, he added, "I think this the best we're gonna get." Glancing to the stairs, Scott seemed to come to a decision. "One last check and then we should go check on Lydia and Stiles," he said, slipping the plastic bag into his backpack before slinging the larger bag over his shoulder, fingers gripping onto the straps tightly.

Five minutes later with one last check completed, Julian was following Scott up the steps, leaving the basement behind them.

* * *

Human and wearing a tank top and shorts instead of a fur coat, Julian walked out of the bathroom silently berating himself for forgetting to pack shoes. He found the others waiting for him in the hallway, carefully crowding in the centre of the house away from any windows. Playing off his discomfort, Julian crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall. "What?"

Lydia turned to him. "You're going to see your brother, yes? I would like to come."

Julian cocked his head to the side, considering her reasoning. "To see Jackson," he guessed.

"Obviously," she replied airily.

Frowning, "Wait, why are you going to see him?" Stiles demanded. "You two are-"

Lydia shot him a disparaging look. "Separated?" she interjected sharply. "I've known Jackson since I was three years old, and even if we are not together, that hardly bars me from talking to him. He was controlled by a killer for months, and in case you've forgotten, I have a rather good idea of what that is like."

Stiles seemed taken aback by the venom in her tone, blinking owlishly at her.

Cocking his head to the side, "Peter might be around," Julian warned her, distaste in his tone. "But Derek will kick him out if he knows you're there." Because for whatever reason, Derek had decided Peter could still hang around with his head still attached to his body. If Peter had just fucked the hell out of town like he'd said he would, then it wouldn't have been as much of a problem. Except suddenly Peter was still around, and the only excuse Derek had was a lie about needing an expert on Jackson. Which was bullshit. They had Deaton for that. And Deaton, unlike Peter, was a trained medical professional and not a talking pile of crap.

Making a conscious effort to get the sour expression off his face, Julian looked to Lydia. "Jackson was supposed to head over at two; Deaton wanted to do a quick check-up before and after the full moon."

At the mention of Deaton's name, Scott's eyes went wide and he scrambled for his phone. Relief fell over him as he found the time. "I've got work in twenty minutes," he explained, pulling his bag off his shoulder and pulling out the bagged jacket and tools. "Do you mind..."

Julian took it with a sigh. "Who knows, maybe it'll even help," he muttered.

Scott winced but didn't argue, instead covering up the pain by turning to Stiles. Stiles for his part just rolled his eyes, clearly having anticipated the question. "I'll start the Jeep," he acquiesced, heading for the door only to have Lydia stop them with a raised hand.

"Go out the back," she ordered. "The last thing we need is to get arrested for breaking and entering."

"I mean, technically we didn't so much _break_ in as we did walk through the door," Stiles argued.

"You explain that to your dad," Julian retorted, turning on his heel and heading to the door with Erica's jacket held under his arm. The weight of the jacket and the tools was almost reassuring.

When he'd said he didn't think it would help he had meant it. And yet, he couldn't quite help but hope that they could beat the odds here. Beacon Hills had given them Kate, Peter, Gerard and the kanima in less than a year. The least it could do was give them back Boyd and Erica.

* * *

The apartment building had a way of making Julian feel small. There was something about the overlarge doors and high, off-white ceilings that made him feel like a kid again. Running through the halls with Cora, laughter bouncing through the halls while Talia tried to convince them to quiet down. Not that the other residents had the guts to complain; Julian's aunt had been damn terrifying, and none of them had the nerve to question her.

Stopping near the entrance that led up to the penthouse, Julian turned to Lydia. "I'll go check," he told her, offering up what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Knowing himself, it probably came off as more of an awkward grimace but the message seemed to get across if Lydia's grateful albeit curt nod was anything to go by.

Slipping down the hall, Julian walked up the last stair case and fumbled for the key Derek had given him a few weeks ago. The sound of voices was muted somewhat by the door, though Julian could make out his brother's tone all the same. He was talking to someone else, and it became quickly clear that person was not Jackson. Peter's self-confident, sly tones carried through the concrete easily, and Julian closed his hand around the key, eyes glowing yellow and his mind honing in on the sound of his uncle's voice.

"They've got to be in town," Derek was saying, frustration in every word as well as the heavy fall of his feet as he paced back and forth across the floor. "We're running out of time..."

"You ran out of time months ago. At this point, you're just in denial. Quite a serious case, I might add."

"You have something you'd like to say?" Derek demanded. His pacing was picking up speed, footsteps echoing off the high concrete walls of the penthouse.

Peter sighed, and Julian could picture the man leaning back lazily, idly picking at his nails. "This is all a game to him, and instead of trying to figure out the goal, you're off running through the woods looking for a couple of corpses."

Derek's pacing came to a halt. "You think I don't know-"

"I think you don't care," Peter commented, calculated boredom in his tone. "And that if you don't stop running after dead teenagers, we're going to find out what they're actually after about thirty seconds before they kill us all. And I for one, would rather avoid that again. Do you have any idea how long it took to set up everything the last time? You just _had_ to set me on fire..."

Tuning out his uncle's words, Julian frowned as the mulled over what he'd heard. Derek hadn't mentioned any suspicions that hunters were responsible for Boyd and Erica's disappearance; Chris had assured them that the two had gotten out free and clear, and that he'd keep an eye out for any word to the contrary. Julian had believed him. Still did. Except Derek was making it sound like someone _had_ taken them… It couldn't be a rival pack either. Derek keeping that to himself would've put them all at risk...

"We both know you're going out tonight," Peter was saying, the contempt in his tone obvious. "Or are you hoping that I'll be able to talk you out of it?"

"You think I brought you here to try and convince me to give up on them?"

"Well, if you didn't, that begs the question of why I am here." Peter paused, a smile in his voice as he went on. "Because it seems to me that I'm here to give voice to that little thought in the back of your head, screaming that you're going to get us all killed with this hero complex of yours. And at this point, I'm beginning to wonder if that's exactly what you want to happen. To you at least."

Derek's heart rate stuttered and he rounded on Peter only to be interrupted once more.

"Let's look at the facts, shall we?" Peter suggested. "We know that he wants you to know he's here. He wouldn't have left that nice carving on the door otherwise. What we don't know is what he wants. And you wasting time hardly helps us figure that out. So, if I may make the suggestion you're waiting for me to; why don't we stop pretending Boyd and Erica will lead us to the Alphas and start-"

Julian went completely still, the words akin to a gut punch that drove the air from his lungs. They couldn't be here. _He_ couldn't be here. Not now. Not ever.

Except it was entirely possible. Except it was. Because Beacon Hills didn't have a Deucalion-proof shield around it. It was just a town, and the border lines were as meaningless to him as they were to anyone else.

Pressing his back into the cold stone of the wall, Julian forced himself to drag in a breath, thoughts whirling around him and the staircase feeling increasingly unstable beneath his bare feet. Dimly, he realised he'd dropped the key and that Derek's steps were getting louder as he walked over to the door.

Grey eyes fixated on a meaningless spot on the wall, Julian waited until the door was opened before he spoke."When were you going to tell me?" he asked quietly, refusing to take his eyes off the wall. " _Were_ you going to tell me?"

"Yes. And later," Derek answered carefully. "I didn't want..."

"Please," Peter said dismissively, casually materialising alongside Derek. "Even I thought we should tell him."

Julian's cold glare bored into Peter. "Is that why he's here?" he asked Derek sharply.

In response, Derek gave a curt nod. "Yes. I needed him-"

"But not me."

Derek straightened up stubbornly. "You're sixteen, Jules," he said, the use of the childhood nickname just driving in the point further. "I wanted to give you a couple of months before I told you that-"

"That my father is here," Julian stated flatly.

"That does about sum it up doesn't it," Peter murmured, leaning forwards with an analytical glint in his eyes.

"Shut up." Julian turned to the man with an expression devoid of any human warmth. "Just stop talking."

Peter tried to laugh it off. Derek looked on with concern, "Jules-" he started, but his younger brother was already shaking his head.

"You too," he said quietly, turning on his heel and starting down the steps on weightless legs. He could feel the weight of the realisation in the back of his mind, twisting around his thoughts like rot. Except the wave of panic he was expecting wasn't coming though. It was just sitting there. Inescapable and inevitable; a dam about to burst. Part of him wished it would all just hurry up so he could get it all over with.

Striding past Lydia and Jackson with only a curt "He's here," he focused on the hallway in front of him, completely missing the questions following his exit.

He had to keep moving. Right now, that was all he could. Just keep moving for a little bit longer.

* * *

It might have been instinct. Or the full moon. Or even a combination of the two along with a million other little things that were cluttering up his head. It didn't really in the end. All that mattered was that he was back in the house, sitting in the front room with his fingers brushing the ivory keys of the broken piano. Years of exposure to the elements had warped the instrument inside and out. The intricate designs carved into the sides were wearing away, the varnished panelling splintered and split with long cracks, and the keys were stained yellow that was apparent even in the moonlight. And when Julian finally pressed down, he was answered with a groan of agony.

Fingers still on the keys and the sound reverberating around the house, "I can hear you breathing," he said softly.

Behind him, Derek shifted his weight, causing the floorboards to creak beneath him. "I could've been someone else," he warned without any real threat in his words.

"Like Deucalion?" Julian asked humourlessly. "Because that would almost have been funny."

"Jules..."

"Why?" Julian let his hand drop from the keys and turned to face his somber brother. "Why didn't you just tell me?" he demanded, brokenly waving at the symbol scratched into the front door.

Derek hesitated before he replied. "Because so far my only real solution is telling you to leave town."

Julian raised an eyebrow in spite of himself. "That's not happening."

Smiling bitterly, "That's why I didn't ask," Derek responded. The smile dropped from his face. "I just didn't want you getting dragged into all of this so soon."

"Derek, I'm not a kid anymore-"

"Julian, you're sixteen. You don't even have your driver's licence yet. You should be worrying about school- Science and art instead of this," he said, gesturing at the burnt out room around them. "You all should be; Scott and Stiles. Even Jackson. That's why I didn't tell anyone. I know you all like to think that this is all your responsibility-"

Julian scoffed at that. "I hate that," he admitted with a shrug. "Always have. Probably always will."

"And yet you're still here."

"Because like it or not, this is always going to be part of my life. And as much as I hate dealing with this crap on a daily basis, I hate running away from it more," Julian responded wearily. "Besides, it's not just your responsibility either. We're all in this together and all that crap, right?"

"That's different," Derek argued. "You all deserve to be teenagers."

"But you didn't?" Julian retorted.

Derek looked like he'd been struck, raw pain flashing across his face. Shocked, Julian swung himself up off the bench into a standing position, wondering what had garnered _that_ reaction. It had been insensitive, sure, especially given where they were standing. But it hadn't been bad enough to warrant the pain in Derek's eyes.

"Derek..." Julian started, staring at his brother warily.

Lip curling, "That's not important," Derek snapped sharply.

Julian stood slowly and crossed his arms over his chest. "Actually, it is. Because this whole 'dark brooding' thing you do is getting real old." Staring at his brother, "What the hell happened Derek?" he demanded. "You used to be Mr. Popular. Shit, you were even _nice_ sometimes. But now... Why can't you just stop lying to me for one goddamn minute?!" he shouted.

The silence hung in the air like smoke. Derek's whole body had gone rigid; his fingers clamped tightly around his arms and his lip pursed into a thin white line. His mouth opened, and Julian was tempted to punch him for what he knew was about to be some dismissal. Another lie to add to the pile. But then Derek stopped and closed his eyes. Every ounce of resistance slowly left his body and he slumped before finally speaking in a hoarse whisper. "I let her in."

Julian froze. "What?"

"We met at school; it was her first day and Mrs. Peters asked me to show her to homeroom. So I walked her down the hall and we started talking... She said she liked basketball and when we were passing by the music room she knocked the ball out from under my arm and took off down the hall." Derek's gaze was a million miles away as he continued. "She was smart and funny and I thought that maybe even after Paige... I didn't know what she was when I told her the truth," he confessed.

There was bile rising in the back of Julian's throat as the pieces slotted together.

Derek's words were coming faster; a torrent of guilt he'd suppressed for so long finally tumbling free. "I gave her my spare key so she could get in through the back. She said her parents were strict and I wasn't ready to introduce her to everyone yet..." He laughed brokenly. "She got in without anyone knowing."

Julian wanted to shake his head, but he was frozen. Because it made sense. A horrible, terrible kind of sense that let all the pieces fit together perfectly: the guilt Derek carried with him like a weight around his neck, and the look in his eyes when he came home bruised and bloody from another fight he'd started...

Slowly, Julian brought up his leaden arm and looked at his hand, studying the trembling human fingers to ensure they were still human before he looked up at his brother. He was met by the face of a man expecting a blow. And somehow, that hurt the most. That Derek thought Julian would actually hit him after what he'd just said. That Derek thought he _deserved_ it.

Julian closed the distance between them and Derek reflexively screwed his eyes shut. His whole body had gone completely rigid when Julian threw his arms around his brother and buried his face in the crook of his arm. Derek kept holding his breath for several seconds before he seemed to register what had happened. Slowly, Derek's muscles relaxed, arms hanging uncertainly at his sides as Julian clung to him.

"Not your fault," Julian said after a moment. "Alright?"

Derek's shoulders tightened and he stepped back, forcing Julian to release him. "You're still mad at me," he said with a sad smile.

"Yes," Julian admitted tiredly. "But not about the fire."

"I-"

"It wasn't your fault. None of this-" he said, using his scarred arm to gesture around the room. "Was your fault. You weren't the one who set the fire. The person who did is dead."

"That doesn't change the fact-" Derek started.

"Derek," Julian interrupted insistently. "I don't care. That shit doesn't matter right now. The only thing we should be worried about his that my f- That Deucalion is here." Taking a shaky breath, "Derek, you're the only family I've got left," he said quietly. "I don't want any more secrets between us."

Derek's brow creased and he crossed his arms over his chest, studying his brother for several long seconds before he spoke. "Fine," he said quietly. "No more secrets."

"No more secrets," Julian repeated, eyes drifting to the Alpha pack symbol carved into their front door. "And no more running."


End file.
